


Dappled Things

by BlueMaize



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omega John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 59,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5748499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMaize/pseuds/BlueMaize
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the 137th day of the pandemic, the government laid the cards on the table. Almost all of the female population, and most of the male, was dead or dying. Overnight, Omega males, capable of bearing children, became not just rare, but valuable.</p><p>After staying hidden amongst the chaos for 14 months, Omega John Watson's luck runs out. Captured by an organisation run by a well dressed man called Moriarty, his future looks grim. </p><p>Sherlock Holmes is doing his best to do his brother's bidding in a world turned on its head. His latest mission: track down the remainder of the country's childbearing population, a job complicated by the fact that someone else keeps finding them first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I have chosen not to use archive warnings and this story is tagged quite minimally. This is a work in progress. Warnings, if needed, will be given on a chapter by chapter basis. Please take that into consideration before reading.

He ran, or more accurately limped, as fast as he could, but he knew it was fruitless. There were too many of them and they weren’t contending with only one good leg.

He took a sharp left down a narrow side street, then a right, only realising his mistake when it was too late to turn back. Dead end. He was done for. He turned to face his pursuers, standing to his full height trying to at least look somewhat imposing. He wouldn’t be taken down without a fight.

Two men appeared at the mouth of the lane and started towards him. A third arrived a moment later. Once they realised he was trapped, they slowed down to a stroll.

“Now, now. Let’s play nice, little Omega. You’ve led us on a merry chase long enough. You must be tired.” The man who spoke was breathing hard but had a smile on his face.

“We can take you somewhere safe. You’ll be well taken care of, plenty of food and a warm place to sleep.” It might have been tempting if John wasn’t certain that the reality was nothing like his pursuer was describing.

“Thank you, but I’ve been fending for myself without a problem. If you kind gentleman would just step aside, I’ll be on my way.”

The men looked at one another then back at John, somewhat surprised by his response. Not typical of an Omega, he supposed.

“Come on now, Omega. We don’t want you hurt now do we? You’re too valuable for that.”

They started to close in. John backed up a few steps, before deciding to stand his ground, widening his stance and raising his fists. He would not go down without a fight.

They rushed him. All three of them. He aimed a fist at the closest, landing a punch to the jaw, but the second circled around and grabbed him from behind, wrapping arms tightly around his upper body, trapping his arms against him.

The man he’d hit staggered sideways, hand to his face. The third man moved to help. John tried to kick out, but his attacker pulled back out of reach. John focused on getting rid of the arms wrapped around him, throwing his head back and trying to force his arms out. His head made purchase and he heard a muffled curse but his attacker's grip didn’t falter. A sharp pain in his leg pulled his attention forward in time to see the man he’d punched plunging a needle into his thigh and depressing a syringe of liquid.

He kicked out and tried to pull his leg back, but it was too late. The third attacker grabbed hold of his legs as he fought and they held him while his struggles grew weaker, his vision starting to swim.

His last thought was that at least he hadn’t gone quietly.

***

Pressure on his arm woke him. He peered around groggily, finding himself in a hospital bed, handcuffed to the bed rails by each wrist. He was wearing a hospital gown and covered with a blanket. There was an IV in his left arm, hooked up to what looked like a bag of saline. There was a probe on his finger measuring the oxygen levels in his blood, stickers on his chest to monitor his heart and a blood pressure cuff attached to his arm. The tightening of the cuff was what had woken him. The pressure released and he looked up to see the result appear on a monitor to the side of his bed.

The room was empty. He pulled himself up a little to look around and try to get his bearings. There was a window but the blinds were closed. The blinds on the door were also closed, giving him no clue as to what was outside.

He rifled through his memories. He’d gone to pick up some suppressant from his supplier and found them lying in wait. He’d been betrayed. They’d been well aware of who and what he was. It had only been a matter of time, he supposed. Still, he’d managed almost fourteen months of freedom since everything had gone to hell. That was an achievement at least. He sighed and dropped back onto the bed, noting a sharp point of pain in his upper back as he did. A bruise from being captured maybe?

The door opened and he sat up again, alert. A man looked in, clocked the change in his status, and was gone just as quickly. Another minute passed with no activity.

“Hello?” he called out. No one answered. The pull on his wrists from sitting up began to get painful. He let himself relax back onto the bed again. No sooner had he done that and the door opened again.

A different man appeared in the doorway, stepping inside the room and letting the door close behind him. It took seconds for John to recognise him for what he was. Alpha.

“Hello. You’re awake.”

He smiled, which John found unsettling.

“So, what would your name be hmmm?” His accent was lilting. Irish, John guessed. It grated on his ears, much the way the man’s smile was disturbing to his eyes.

John deigned not to answer, waiting to see how this played out.

“Thankfully, our access to the Omega database is still intact.”

The man walked to one side of John’s bed, peering at the monitor with John’s vitals on it before turning to look him in the eye.

“Allow me to introduce you. Watson, John. Doctor in the British Army. Recruited during the brief relaxation of the Omega employment rules. Saw action in Afghanistan. Invalided home.”

Whatever he saw in John’s face brought a smile to his. “Quite a unique specimen. One of the few Omegas to actually have a career, and in the Army at that.”

He turned and paced towards the door, putting his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat. He turned with a twirl and a flourish, drawing John’s attention to how smartly dressed he was, not to mention clean shaven, hair neat. John was suddenly very conscious that he had four days worth of stubble on his cheeks, dirt under his nails and it had been a while since his hair had had more than a passing acquaintance with a comb.

“And now you’re even more unique, though I’m sure you’ve realised that by now. Do you know the statistics? They make for very grim reading, John. Or do you prefer Doctor?”

John stayed mute. The man was dangerous, clearly. He didn’t want to engage with him until he had to. Plus, he seemed happy to do all the talking.

“Population estimates for last month say that eighty-nine percent of the female population is deceased. Doesn’t sound so bad does it? Until you learn that it is ninety-five percent in the pre-menopausal population. Males fared better of course. Seventy percent deceased across the board. So you are one of the thirty percent of male Omegas to survive. Quite an achievement on top of all your others.”

He strode towards the window, pulling the blinds aside to peer out.

“You see why it makes you so important, of course. You’re one of the few people left in the world capable of bearing children. And there is a lot of vested interest in that these days.”

Which was why John had been being so careful. Getting suppressants from a trusted source, keeping off the radar until some form of law and order was reestablished.

“You won’t have failed to take note of your surroundings, what with your background. You’re in a hospital of course. We’re fully functioning with a very specific purpose in mind. The provision of children for the new world order. For those with power. You see, right now, children are the most precious commodity for the human race. Whoever can provide children, wields a lot of influence.”

John had guessed where this was going from the moment he’d woken up in such sterile surroundings. If their plan had just been to whore him out, he’d likely have woken in a very different setting.

“We have a very successful programme already in operation. It’s most effective with Omegas, your biology is easier to manipulate. It’s really quite ingenious. You’re in the quarantine ward. Our only patient here at present. One you’re out of quarantine, I’ll give you a tour of our facilities.”

He strode to the door, pressing down on the handle. “It’s Moriarty by the way. Jim Moriarty. In case you were wondering.” His tone sent a chill down John’s spine. And then he was gone, door shutting behind him, and John was alone, with only the beep of machines to keep him company.

***

Too late. Always too late. Sherlock stamped his way back to Baker Street, anger in each step. Why was he forever at the mercy of other people’s incompetence?

He flung open the door. “Oh Sherlock, you’re back.”

“Not now Mrs. Hudson.” He said, as he took the stairs two at a time. “No luck then?” She called after him.

“No. We were too late. Someone tipped _them_ off too and they got there first.”

“Well dear, I’m sure next time…”

Sherlock tuned her out as he reached the top of the stairs. He flung his coat on a chair and reached for his violin, losing himself in an angry, fierce tune.


	2. Custody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief, non-graphic forced medical examination.

Ten minutes later the door opened again. The first man he’d seen returned with a tray.

“Now, Omega. Here’s how this is going to go. I’ll uncuff one wrist and you’ll eat this food. Then two of us will escort you to the bathroom so you can clean up. Then you’ll have some tests done. If you give any trouble, you’ll be sedated. We don’t particularly need you conscious.”

It was said with a practised ease that told him the man had given this speech many times before. How many others had passed through here?

John forced himself to relax back into the bed as the man approached, trying his best to look harmless. The mann uncuffed John’s left wrist then raised the head of the bed before placing the tray on his lap.

John nearly laughed when he saw the contents. A bowl of soup, slice of bread, some cheese, slices of apple and a large glass of milk. All the nutrition a growing Omega could need.

Given he’d been living out of the contents of cans for months, he didn’t turn his nose up at it. The men who’d chased him down clearly hadn’t been lying about the food. The question, of course, was what the true cost of it would be.

He ate slowly, savouring each mouthful. The soup was vegetable, hot and tasty, the bread freshly baked. The milk was cold.

He looked up to find the man watching him. “Nice to have a full stomach for once, isn’t it?” He commented quietly. “If you do what you’re told, you’ll never go hungry here. I’m your custodian by the way.”

Another man joined them after John had finished eating. They uncuffed him from the bed before recuffing his hands together in front of him. They used both sets of handcuffs, locking them together to give him more leeway to move. Which meant they weren’t planning on removing the handcuffs when they let him wash up.

He was brought into the bathroom, a wet room with a toilet, sink and open shower. There were towels stacked on the counter, alongside a sponge and soap. The custodian came inside with him, the other man standing outside the door.

The man with him at least had the decency to turn his back while John used the toilet and he then helped John shed his gown to step under the shower. The water was warm, which shouldn’t have surprised him given the building clearly had power, but it had been a long time since he’d had more than a bowl of hot water to wash in. He washed quickly, noting again the pain in his upper back. He twisted his neck but couldn’t see the spot or reach it with his hand. There was no mirror in the room either.

He finished up and picked up the towel to dry off.

As he dried himself as best he could with bound hands, the custodian opened a cupboard with a key attached to the bunch on his belt. He pulled out three items, setting them next to the sink. A safety razor, shaving cream and a small mirror. He gestured for John to go ahead. John dropped the towel he was using and did as directed. Shaving with his wrists bound proved a challenge but mercifully he had steady hands.

The custodian binned the razor as soon as John was finished before opening another cupboard and pulling out a pair of scrubs. John saw an opportunity but the idea was quickly quashed when the custodian called the other man in. They uncuffed John’s hands, pulled the scrub top over his head and quickly cuffed him again, then let him don the scrub pants himself.

He was brought back to his room, one wrist secured to the bed and the other left free. Then he was instructed to drink a glass of water. A second, third and fourth glass followed until he couldn’t drink any more. Thne he was cuffed to the bed again, this time both hands secured to the head of the bed, before the men left. For a while, nothing happened, then his custodian returned, holding the door open while a man wearing a white coat wheeled in an ultrasound machine. John had guessed what was coming when they started plying him with water.

“Now, Omega. We’re going to make this very easy for you.” His custodian said, as the other man wheeled the machine into position.

He had a silver foil tray in his hand, a needle and syringe already prepared. “No.” John finally broke his silence. “I’ll cooperate. You don’t need to sedate me.”

“Don’t worry. It’s mild, just enough to keep you calm while the doctor examines you. It’s in your best interest.” The man’s voice was calm and firm. He wiped the top of John’s arm with an alcohol swab, ignoring John’s futile attempts to free his wrists. Then, taking a firm grip of John’s upper arm, he stuck him with the needle, depressing the plunger slowly and steadily. It stung.

His custodian had been telling the truth; calm washed over him, his limbs relaxing against his will but he was still awake and alert.

The men moved either side of the bed, grasping and pulling him down so that his feet were near the end of the bed, his arms stretched above him. His scrub top was pushed up and cold gel squeezed onto his stomach. The ultrasound probe was pressed into his skin. The familiar sound of the machine would ordinarily have been a reassurance but not now.

The doctor performed a thorough scan, humming and hawing at different points but not saying a word. The screen was angled away so John couldn’t see what the doctor could, not that he needed to, he knew what was there. Characteristic Omega reproductive organs, almost identical to female organs.

He was unsurprised when the doctor wiped the probe clean, put it away and picked up a second, smaller probe. “We’ll complete an internal scan.” Was all he said. It reinforced John's belief that they had done this many times before as they moved in sync, bending his knees, and pulling them out to the edge of the bed.

He didn’t struggle. It was futile. The sedative they’d given him had made him weak and tired. There wasn’t enough fight in him to do any good. Plus, he needed them to underestimate him, label him as cooperative and harmless. What was expected of an Omega.

He opened his mouth to add to the illusion. “Please don’t do this. Please.” He looked from one man to the other, letting fear and vulnerability show in his face as his scrub pants were untied and pulled down over his knees to his ankles. It wasn’t all faked. He felt vulnerable, violated and a little scared. But also angry. He’d fought for a long time to be considered a human being, to be tied down like an animal was hard to stomach.

“Shhh, Omega. We’re not going to hurt you. Just a quick exam and it’ll be all over. Be a good boy and it’ll be over sooner.” His custodian ran a gentle hand through John’s hair.

They pulled straps up from under the mattress to attach to his ankles. Being restrained like this made the fear more real. He couldn’t close his legs, couldn’t protect himself. He struggled a little and the custodian made another attempt to calm him.

“Look at me now John. That’s it. Focus on me.” He turned John’s head and blocked his view of the end of the bed and the doctor. Still, John felt everything. Felt the gloved hands pushing his thighs further apart, felt the lubricated finger push inside him, poking around before withdrawing. Then the probe was pushed in. It was bigger than John had expected, intrusive and cold. Probably because it has been a long while since he’d been touched there. The probe was pushed in a few inches then held in place, the rhythmic noise of the ultrasound in the background.

“That’s a good lad John. Almost over.” The custodian spoke again, hand still holding John’s head to the side, stroking it gently. It almost made it worse somehow, not being able to see what was happening. The probe was adjusted a few times, causing John to shift a little at the discomfort, made all the worse by his full bladder.

“I thought Moriarty said we were going to try blindfolds.” The doctor grumbled, as he slid the probe out to John's relief.

“We did. Made them panic more, two of them needed extra sedation, one nearly broke a wrist. The idea was scrapped.” The custodian replied, releasing John’s head and pulling his scrub pants up.

“Well?” He asked the doctor.

“No bun in the oven, as confirmed by this morning’s blood tests. Looks healthy, all organs intact.”

“There now.” The custodian smiled at John. “That’s good news. We weren’t sure what with you having been injured in the war. Your medical records weren’t recovered.” That was interesting, John thought. Omega medical records were kept separately to the general information in the Omega Database as far as he could recall. So these people weren’t all powerful after all.

The doctor wheeled his equipment out of the room while the custodian pulled up the bed rails before moving John’s restrained wrists, one by one, back to their original position. Then he released John’s ankles. He looked at him for a moment, taking in the slight strain on John’s face.

“I’m guessing you’d like to relieve yourself after all that water? Here.” He retrieved a bottle from beside the bed and undid one of the handcuffs, handing the bottle to John. He turned his back a little, giving John the illusion of privacy. John used the bottle with some relief, coughing awkwardly when he finished to get the custodian’s attention. He retrieved the bottle, setting it aside, and secured John again.

“I’ll be back with some dinner later. For now, try to rest. You Omegas are always so distressed by the examinations.” He spoke almost fondly as he picked up the bottle and left the room.

John checked quickly for any give in the handcuffs but they were secure. So he did as advised, lying back and closing his eyes.

***

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. He ate dinner and was released to use the bathroom again before being resecured. The custodian came to say goodnight, explaining that the night custodian was taking over his care until the morning and he was expecting John not to give him any trouble. He gave John another shot of sedative to aid in his good behaviour so John had no trouble drifting off to sleep.

He was woken the next morning by the custodian bringing him breakfast. He was brought for another shower and a change of scrubs. Then led on a short walk up and down the corridor a few times. “It’s important for an Omega to keep active. Once you’re out of quarantine, there’s a gym you can use.” The custodian had said.

The rest of the day was almost identical to the previous. Lunch and dinner, a second bathroom visit. There was an evening walk as well, up and down the corridor. And a nightcap in the form of another sedative.

The third day was a carbon copy of the second and John was beginning to unravel. He wanted out of here but there was no chance of escape with the current regime. They were too careful. He never had more than one hand free unless both men were accompanying him and even then it was only for seconds at a time. He’d have to bide his time and wait for them to relax their guard before he effected an escape.

The custodian was just preparing his night time sedative when the door opened and Moriarty sauntered in. One look had his custodian placing the syringe back into the tray and walking quickly from the room.

“I’ve been hearing good things about you John. You’ve been so well behaved for your custodian.” Moriarty reached for one handcuffed arm and released the cuff from the rail, leaving it attached to John's wrist. His grip was tight and firm, his expression almost daring John to try something. Every instinct told him that this wasn’t the time. The man in front of him was dangerous, like a poisonous snake; ready to strike.

He let go of John’s arm abruptly and walked around to the other side of the bed. John wondered for a moment if he was about to be released but instead the man reached over and tugged hard, pulling John’s wrist to his side of the bed and securing it to the rail. It twisted his body uncomfortably so he moved onto his side to relax the strain.

Moriarty returned to the other side of the bed and John was careful to turn and track his movements.

“On your side now John.” Moriarty said in sing-song voice, pushing until John lay facing away from him. “Now, this won’t take a second.” The cheerful voice added, sending a shiver down John’s spine a moment before his scrub pants were tugged down. He froze as a careless hand wiped an alcohol swab over his hip.

“Before you came here, you were quite the naughty boy weren’t you? Using class D suppressants? Difficult to get back in the old days but I assume your military connections have assisted you since. Which means a delay while they wash out of your system. Eight weeks! Eight whole weeks. Such a waste of valuable breeding time.”

He heard the pop of a plastic cap being taken off a syringe.

“It’ll be worth the wait though. All your screening tests were negative. All your fertility tests were positive. You’re strong and healthy. You’ll supply us with many babies, John.”

He jabbed he needle hard into the outer edge of John’s buttock, then depressed the plunger. It seemed to go in with infinite slowness, drawing out the pain as the liquid was forced into muscle.

“I hear you were very well behaved for your ultrasound." Moriarty's free hand rested on John's hip. "Barely made a sound during it. I'm sorry I missed it." His hand caressed John, who struggled not to shudder under the man's touch.

"Good behaviour like that deserves a reward. Tomorrow morning, I’ll give you the promised tour of the facilities. Then, seeing as we have time to kill, I’ll take you out for a visit, show you how the other half lives.”

The needle was withdrawn and John heard the clunk as it was disposed of into the sharps box.

“How is your escape plan going John? Any ideas yet?" John couldn't help his jerk of surprise at the question. Moriarty ignored his reaction. "We had a woman in here, let me see, when was it? Three or four months ago maybe. Kicked up such a fuss about her ultrasound then, hours later, tried to escape. Had managed to work the cuff off one side of the bed and was trying to free her other arm when we caught her.”

Moriarty pulled John’s scrubs back into place and returned to the other side of the bed, removing the handcuff from the rail once more.

“I punished her custodian of course. Careless thing to allow happen. Oh, don’t worry." He patted John on the arm and John tried not to pull away. "Your custodian is one of our best. I punished the woman too, of course. We do have to be careful how we treat you, you are our future after all, but that kind of behaviour can’t be tolerated.”

Moriarty moved to the other side of the bed again but this time, just stood there, waiting. John cottoned on quickly, handing over his arm willingly to let Moriarty secure it. It earned him a smile which did nothing to alleviate his uneasiness.

Moriarty moved so they were eye to eye, staring into John's face intently. “I carried out the punishment myself to make sure she understood what it truly meant to be in someone’s power. I suspect you’ll need a lesson on that John, sooner or later.”

With that chilling pronouncement, Moriarty stuck his hands in his pockets and stepped jauntily to the open door. “He’s all yours, custodian. I gave him his injection while we had our chat.” He called over this shoulder as he left.

The custodian returned, checking John’s handcuffs were secure.

“What did he do to them? The woman who tried to escape and her custodian?” John asked.

“Don’t you worry about that now, Omega. You keep doing what you’re told and you’ll be taken care of.”

“Please, I need to know.” He let his face show as much worry as he could muster. The custodian sighed.

“Her custodian was beaten in front of the rest of the staff and some of the patients. The woman… Moriarty found someone, a boyfriend or a cousin or something and had him beaten instead of her.”

While he could well believe Moriarty would do that, he got the impression that wasn’t what he’d been talking about when he’d spoken of her learning what it meant to be in his power. That had sounded personal.

“He said he’d punished her himself.” He let his voice sound small.

“You don’t need to be worrying yourself about these things. You Omegas are always so sensitive…” The custodian shook his head.

“Please. It can’t be any worse than what my imagination conjures up.” Which wasn’t necessarily true. John’s imagination had always been on the bland side. But he was trying to paint himself as the fretting Omega. The kind who’d let their imagination run away with them and be up all night.

“She kicked up a lot of fuss during her internal ultrasound. She wasn’t good and cooperative like you. He just gave her another one, that’s all.”

As horrible as it had been to have an impersonal doctor examine him, he couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be at the hands of someone like Moriarty. While John tried not to think of it that way himself because he knew it wouldn’t help him in this situation what Moriarty had done to her was essentially rape. The ultimate expression of power over another person. It gave him an insight into the man he'd rather not have had.

“Does Mr. Moriarty like Omegas?” John asked cautiously, trying to make the question sound innocent.

“He likes them better than the women, I think. More placid, less fiery. Almost all the trouble we’ve had has been with the women. They can be very demanding. You Omegas already know your place. Now, that’s enough chit chat. You’ve had your sedative, you must be ready for a sleep. We’ll talk again in the morning. Oh, and try not and worry John. You do right by me and I’ll do right by you.”

The light was switched off and the door closed but John didn’t sleep.

***

“Sherlock, I brought you some tea.” Mrs. Hudson announced her presence with the clink of china as she set the cup down on the table next to him.

“Oh Sherlock. I do wish you’d keep the place a bit tidier. I know civilisation has taken a battering but that’s no excuse not to at least put your dishes in the sink.” She surveyed the cluttered coffee table with dismay.

He sighed and looked up at her. “I don’t think tidying away the dishes is going to be enough to restore things Mrs. Hudson. But thank you for the tea.”

He almost sighed louder when she took a seat across from him.

“What are things like out there?” There was hesitant curiosity in her question. She wanted to know but was afraid of the answer.

“The streets in many parts remain unnaturally quiet. That fire in Canary Wharf last week destroyed quite a bit of infrastructure before it burnt itself out. The market in Trafalgar Square is thriving. They’ve sourced fresh fruit and vegetables from farms to the north and west and the supply line seems fairly stable.”

He forgot sometimes how restricted Mrs. Hudson’s life had gotten. They were lucky they’d been able to remain in Baker Street. Though he suspected it was less luck and more Mycroft’s familiarity with his brother’s stubbornness that meant one of the first sections of barriers to go up delineating protected areas included Baker Street. But while he could be stubborn, he wasn’t stupid. Had things continued their downward slide he’d have moved Mrs. Hudson and himself to a safer location. As it was, the convenience of being able to stay in their own home was an appreciated one.

He did feel for Mrs. Hudson though, in as much as he could feel for another person. While the barriers and gates acted as a deterrent, it didn’t stop people getting in and there was no guarantee of safety for any woman alone on the street, even one of Mrs. Hudson’s age. One of her friends had survived and remained in the area, but it wasn’t often they were able to meet.

“I’ve been promised some pears and apples in a day or two.” He added, then pointed to package clumsily wrapped in newspaper. “But I did get some vegetables.”

She reached for it, untying the string to reveal carrots, parsnips and onions. “Oh Sherlock. And I have some of that beef left over and there’s those potatoes you brought home last week. I’ll make a casserole.” A welcome break from the tinned food they mostly survived on.

She smiled and stood, making her way towards the stairs. Then she paused and turned back to him. “Sherlock. Did you see any…”

“A few teenagers on the younger side, running wild near Hyde Park. Mycroft has people keeping an eye on them.” Sherlock was acutely aware, as was anyone else keeping account of these things, that as well as the expected scarcity of females, there were a lot less children visible than there should have been. He hoped it was an abundance of caution on behalf of those caring for them keeping them out of sight and not that they’d fallen into the wrong hands. He had made the mistake of mentioning it in front of Mrs. Hudson a few weeks prior and now she always asked.

“Well that’s something now isn’t it.” But the smile didn’t reach her eyes.


	3. Facility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments, all encouragement is appreciated. It's still a bit slow going but the pace picks up the next chapter or two. Warning for non-graphic discussion of pregnancy/termination.

The morning routine was broken by Moriarty’s arrival after John had washed and dressed.

“Time for a tour of the facilities. I’m sure you’d like to see more than these four walls and get a look at your new home. Well, your soon to be new home.” Moriarty seemed positively chirpy and it set John’s teeth on edge. There was something very wrong about the man, but he couldn’t have told you exactly what.

The custodian accompanied them as they left the ward, John’s hands cuffed together using a single pair of cuffs leaving him with little leeway to move.

They entered an elevator. The numbers of the floors had been removed, replaced by colours.

“Red is quarantine.” Moriarty explained as he pressed the pink button and the doors closed. John felt the familiar tug in his stomach as the lift ascended.

“Postnatal.” He said, as the doors opened. “Heavily guarded of course.” He indicted the two armed men wearing bulletproof vests.

They were heavily scrutinised before being allowed through the door. Inside was a sort of antechamber, with more guards. They were ushered forward, one by one, Moriarty going first. A wand like they used in airport security was waved over him. It beeped and he laughed, fishing out a pocket watch and handing it over. “I always forget about the watch.”

He was allowed to proceed and the custodian pushed John forward. The handcuffs were removed, John’s hopes briefly raised then dashed as they were replaced almost immediately plastic zip tie cuffs, secured tightly with no give. The wand was wavered over him then he too was ushered forward through the doors.

He found Moriarty at the end of the next section, tapping gloved fingers impatiently against his arm. The sight of him almost brought a smile to John’s face. Moriarty was wearing a white plastic gown, white hair cover and a mask around his neck but pulled down from his mouth. He had white booties covering his shoes and gloves on his hands. Over his trousers and waistcoat it looked faintly ridiculous.

A quick glance around told John he’d be wearing the same get-up shortly and sure enough, after a thorough washing of his hands, each piece was handed to him, before a mask was secured around his neck. Like Moriarty, it wasn’t pulled up around his mouth.

He was propelled towards Moriarty once deemed appropriately dressed and they waited as his custodian donned the required gear. Then, together, they proceeded.

The first room they came to was like an old fashioned nursery. A long pane of glass showing them a room filled with cots. About half of them were occupied. John did a quick count. Seven babies in all. There was an armed guard in the antechamber to the nursery, the gun clashing with the white of the gown, cap and mask he wore.

“These are our full term infants. Two boys and five girls. Two of the girls and one of the boys are a set of triplets.” Moriarty pointed them out. “Our first triplets. Impressive, isn’t it?” It really was. John took the scene in with wide eyes. He hadn’t expected to see such a large group of children again.

They walked on until they reached a door with another guard outside. He saluted Moriarty briefly.

“Masks on gentleman please.” Moriarty said, before affixing his own and walking inside. John did as instructed and followed, wondering what was behind this door.

It was a neonatal intensive care unit. A NICU. Five incubators and five nurses. Two female, three male. The female nurses looked to be in their fifties or early sixties. As their visitors arrived, they all went to stand next to their own charges.

Moriarty reached back and took John by the arm, guiding him forward.

“Our newest Omega.” He said, sounding proud. “Just giving him a tour of our most precious floor.” The nurses all nodded in greeting.

“These are the newest born infants. These two born just last week. The other three born almost four weeks ago.”

Moriarty’s introduction confused John as he moved to stand next to the first incubator. Twins and triplets? Surely, if born at nearly full term and over a week ago, they’d be out of the incubators by now?

It was only when he caught sight of them, that he realised the truth. They were premature. Tiny, fragile things, all hooked up to machinery. “31 weeks, these two.” Moriarty said, gesturing to the incubator John stood at, and the one next to it. “The triplets are almost 35 weeks.” He guided John over to see. For 35 weeks, they were tiny, but he supposed that was three of them in the one womb competing for space and resources. Still, being born at 32 and 30 weeks was early, even for multiple births.

Moriarty guided them through a side door which led directly into the next NICU. In it were more babies, all in various states of prematurity.

Then Moriarty guided John back to the corridor. There were other rooms being guarded but they didn't enter them. The corridor curved in a u-shape. They divested themselves of their gowns and masks, John’s plastic cuffs removed and replaced with metal once more before they exiting through a guarded door back to the elevator.

“I’d like to know your thoughts on our operation Dr. Watson.” Moriarty asked, as he pressed the blue button. There was a certain amount of mockery in his voice when he used John’s title but John didn’t rise to the bait.

“They were all multiple births and almost all premature.” John voiced the most remarkable thing he’d noticed, which he suspected was by design rather than chance.

Moriarty clapped his hands. “Well done, John. I knew you’d notice. Most of them are too stunned at seeing babies to think about those things.”

He led the way onto the next floor, giving the guards a nod. The custodian followed them, like John’s shadow.

“This is the prenatal ward. Let’s take a walk around, shall we?”

It was more like a traditional hospital ward. There were men and women, though mostly men, wearing scrubs identical to John's. Their reaction to seeing them was mixed. John got a few curious glances but Moriarty got the biggest reaction, a lot of downturned heads, tense bodies and a general quieting of conversation. They were clearly intimidated by him.

There were staff too, in brightly coloured scrubs to differentiate them. They were smiling and cheerful but it looked somewhat forced, strain visible around their eyes. Moriarty’s presence certainly had an effect on people.

Of those patients he could see, about half were visibly pregnant, stomachs protruding through the scrubs. But, at a guess, none of them appeared to be more than 30 weeks gone.

“You don’t let them come to full term.” He said to Moriarty as they walked the curving corridor.

“That’s right. We’ve carefully weighed the risks of delivering early against the benefits of extra breeding time from a fertile woman or male Omega.” He watched John carefully as if to gauge his reaction.

“They’re all multiple births as well. Our experts have deemed quadruplets still too risky but we are trialling a few pregnancies. One is due to deliver next week, he’s been on bed rest. Most are triplets with a few sets of twins. We do have the occasional single birth. If they arrive pregnant and it’s later than twenty weeks, we usually hang on a few weeks and deliver them. If it’s sooner than that, we abort and start again. No use wasting valuable breeding time for so small a benefit.”

John found himself staring at Moriarty in horror as he matter of factly described forced abortions.

“I know it sounds cruel, John, but we have the whole of the human race to think of. The benefit of many outweighing the few. And they’ll always have more babies. That’s what we do here.”

They had come full circle, reaching the elevators again. Moriarty pressed the green button. Another ward with patients in gowns milling around. No pregnancies visible.

“This is the fertile floor. Those waiting to be impregnated. Awaiting their heats or in between pregnancies. Lots of good food, exercise and rest. See anything you missed on the prenatal ward?” Moriarty asked with a hint of amusement.

There were more hostile looks aimed at Moriarty here and less of the deference. Newly arrived maybe, or parents separated from their newborns. Either, John imagined, would generate a lot of hostility.

He took a closer look at the patients, seeing what Moriarty had hinted at. He’d been so distracted by the pregnancies he’d missed the ankle bracelets that were just visible as bulges under the scrubs the patients wore.

“Ordinarily, this is where you’d stay until the suppressant was out of your system and your heat had started but I have to say John, given your background, I’d be concerned about your influence on the others here. This floor has been a source of trouble these past few months.”

A blond man walked out of a ward, caught sight of them and paled, ducking back in the door.

“Ramone, come here.” Moriarty called. The man poked his head out then shuffled over, eyes downcast.

“I heard your latest implantation didn’t take. Very disappointing.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moriarty, sir.” The man said, not looking up at him. Moriarty gripped his chin, fingers digging into his skin and turned his head up so their eyes met.

“I heard a rumour that a guard snuck you some contraceptives, maybe even a morning after pill. If I find there to be any truth to that, you’ll spend a month in the Red House. Are we understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Moriarty, sir.” He replied, eyeing him with wide, frightened eyes.

Moriarty let go and Ramone stumbled back before hurrying out of sight. The corridor had cleared while the confrontation took place, except for a few staff members who watched with interest.

Moriarty turned and spoke quietly to John. “Like I said John, this floor is a source of strife. I’m not sure you’d be a good mix here. You're... different. Now, that completes our tour I think. The custodian will get you some lunch, then we’ll go on that other little visit I promised you.” Moriarty smiled at him, nodded to the custodian and sauntered off.

As he left, a nurse approached.

“Is there any truth to it?” The custodian asked, jerking his head in the direction Ramone had scurried off in. “Maybe. There’s been a question over some of the Guards and inappropriate behaviour. I wouldn’t put it past Ramone to offer a few sexual favours in return for some contraceptives. He’s trouble.”

Something of John’s thoughts must have shown on his face for the nurse spoke to him reassuringly. “Don’t look so worried, Omega. Moriarty is fair. If you give trouble, you get trouble back. Otherwise, he’ll leave you alone. He does have his favourites though. Special ones he likes to…” A look from the custodian silenced the nurse and set alarm bells ringing in John’s head.

Moriarty had already singled him out. Telling him he was different, deciding not putting him into the fertile ward with the rest.

The custodian was saying something about lunch and guiding John by the arm back to the elevator. They travelled back to the quarantine ward in silence. As they exited the lift, John spoke.

“What does it mean when Moriarty thinks you're special?” He watched the custodian carefully, noting the expression that crossed his face before it was replaced by bland reassurance.

“Moriarty is like any Alpha. He has his needs, his appetites. But he’s very careful. He knows how precious people like you are John, knows how valuable you are to the world. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that.”

But John knew well enough that there was a world of difference between not causing harm and the kind of damage that would affect fertility. That left Moriarty a lot of leeway.

***

Sherlock leaned against the rough stone wall at the entrance to the laneway and waited. Despite the fact that the world had almost literally turned on its head, life was still somehow all too often… boring. He hated boring.

A man, collar pulled up against the cold breeze, hurried past him and into the narrow laneway. He stopped, turned, and beckoned Sherlock to follow him.

He led them down the lane to a metal door. There were three padlocks and he laboriously unlocked them, Sherlock tapping his foot impatiently against the paving stones.

Finally the door swung open with a long creak and the man stepped inside, Sherlock following. The man pulled a cord from the ceiling and a light flickered on, affording a gloomy illumination to the dark room.

“Well? Have at it.” He said, pulling a thick black book from a drawer.

“I hear you’re the go-to person when someone is in need of certain chemicals.” Sherlock let himself state the obvious, smelling the acrid scent that was characteristic of stored pheromone suppressants.

“Depends on what kind you’re looking for. If you’re looking for a good time, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

“Pity.” Sherlock replied. “But I’m more interested in what you do have, than what you don’t.”

“Alpha suppressants aren’t too commonly sought after.” The man remarked. “Used to be a niche market before. Made me a tidy little profit.”

“And Omega suppressants?”

The man grinned. “There’s always been a steady demand for those, but my clientele has dwindled significantly.”

“So you sell out the odd Omega now and then, supplying you with a needed injection of capital. ”

The man stilled, eyeing Sherlock warily. “We do what we have to these days. Not what we want to.”

“Oh, that’s your excuse is it? For selling human beings to the highest bidder?” Sherlock couldn't keep the bite of anger from his voice.

“I don’t sell them. I just pass information on to those who are happy to pay for it, that’s all.” He replied defensively.

“And you sell them out to more than one buyer, twice the profit and none of the risk.”

“No, of course not.” The man protested as Sherlock squared up to him.

“You sold information to a man called Martins a few days ago.” The man nodded cautiously.

“Who else did you sell that information to?”

“I didn’t… just Martins. It wouldn’t be worth my life if anyone thought I was double-crossing them.” Sherlock watched him carefully, then clamped a hand to the man's wrist and felt his pulse. “ _Who else_?” He bit out.

“No one. _Just_ Martins.” The steady pulse beneath his fingers confirmed what Sherlock's instincts told him. Gary Tomkins might have been a despicable human being, but he wasn’t stupid.

“I need you to put out the word to your clients. They can be protected. We have safe areas. Tell them to make their way to New Scotland Yard and ask for Greg Lestrade.”


	4. Reality

Lunch was a quiet affair. John had little interest in eating, knowing Moriarty was coming back for him. The custodian cajoled and encouraged him, finally giving up when it became clear John wasn’t going to manage more than half of what was on his plate.

Moriarty turned up promptly after lunch. In his arms was a coat and shoes, which he handed to the custodian. The custodian dressed John in them, removing his handcuffs one at a time to get his arms into the sleeves before they were resecured in front of him.

The last item Moriarty presented with a flourish. An electronic ankle bracelet.

“It’s just a precaution, as much for your safety as anything else.” The custodian reassured as he fixed the bracelet around John’s ankle underneath his scrubs. "Be good for Mr. Moriarty, John. I'll see you when you get back."

He escorted them as far as the elevator then left John in the hands of Moriarty and two armed guards.

The elevator descended, doors opening in an underground car park. A car idled just outside the elevator bank. One of the guards stepped ahead of them and opened the back door. John was ushered inside, Moriarty following him.

The drive was short, through quiet, near deserted streets. They pulled up in front of a building with armed guards at the entrance. That was becoming more common these days, people invested in protecting their own, protecting what they had.

It was a hotel, John thought, or had been before.

Moriarty stepped out first, holding out a hand towards John. When John ignored Moriarty’s outstretched hand and reached for the car door to pull himself out, Moriarty’s hand snaked out, grabbing hold of the handcuffs and pulling John roughly from the car. It was a struggle to get his feet under him, only Moriarty’s hand on his shoulder stabilising him.

“Welcome to the Pavilion, John.” Moriarty gestured grandly to the building before escorting him inside, their guards following closely. At the door, they were subjected to a security search before being allowed to proceed.

“Can’t be too cautious. We live in dangerous times.” The words didn’t match the almost gleeful expression on Moriarty’s face. He was someone who enjoyed the chaos, thrived on it.

First impressions were correct. It was a hotel. There was a lobby, with an expansive reception desk and plentiful staff.

Through large doors to the left, John could see a restaurant and bar with groups of men in suits having lunch. There were nods in Moriarty’s direction and a few raised glasses.

Moriarty nodded and smiled back at them. “They like to think they’re the men rebuilding this country. They’re half right, I suppose.” He said as an aside to John, then he laughed, a warped, humourless sound.

He led John through the hotel and out the back door. There was a courtyard behind the hotel and, across the courtyard, a red brick building.

“Yes, the Red House. Where the other half lives.” He smiled at John. When Moriarty had mentioned the other half, John has assumed he was talking about people like those men in the hotel. People with power, influence and money who'd survived the pandemic and were shrewd enough to profit in the aftermath. People better off than the pour souls trapped in the hospital. Now he was beginning to suspect he'd gotten the wrong end of the stick.

The security was heavier than in the hotel itself. A metal detector and more guards, all armed. They waved Moriarty through with a smile, and gave John a cursory search before letting him follow.

“Let’s introduce you around, John.” Moriarty walked with a skip in his step, like an excited child.

They walked up a flight of stairs. Moriarty knocked on the first door he came to but walked in before there was a response. John followed.

It was a large four bedded room. There was a woman lying on one bed, another sitting at a dressing table. They turned as the men walked in, the woman on the bed sitting up. She had red eyes and tear tracks down her face.

“Vanessa dear, you’re crying. What wrong?” Moriarty asked, stepping closer, a semblance of concern on his face.

The woman was wearing a short night dress. One hand was pressed between her legs and as she sat up, she moved, showing the towel wrapped bundle she’d been pressing against her.

“It was that Mr. Norton again. He’s always too rough with her.” The other woman who spoke was older, maybe mid-thirties. There was no attempt to disguise the disgust on her face as she looked at Moriarty.

“He asks for me every time. Two or three times a week. Always in the early afternoon, so there’s more after him. I think he does that on purpose, knows what he’s done will hurt long after he’s gone.” Vanessa words were punctuated with angry sobs as she held what John now guessed was an icepack against herself.

“I’ll have the doctor check you over Vanessa. Maybe a few days of rest too. Hubert Norton is a very important client, we can’t afford to disappoint him, but I’ll try and interest him in one of our other selections and ensure on days you do see him, that you don’t see anyone else after.” He spoke softly and smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

She looked up at him, caught the look on his face and forced a smile through her tears. “Thank you Mr. Moriarty, sir.”

“We take care of our own John.” He said, putting a hand on John’s shoulder and guiding him towards the door. There was a choked sound of laughter from the other woman and John turned back to see her sit down next to Vanessa, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Moriarty’s arm tightened on John’s shoulder, grip becoming painful as he forced John out into the hall.

John had suspected places like this would spring up in the aftermath of the pandemic. Women were scarce, in high demand, and prostitution, willing or not, one of the oldest professions. But he wondered if it was really worth Moriarty’s while to sacrifice potential breeders for this? Moriarty answered that question for him.

“Sara had endometrial ablation when she was thirty-two. A mistake I’m sure she regrets now. Irreversible infertility, more or less. Vanessa underwent two rounds of chemotherapy and radiotherapy for bone cancer as a teenager. The chances of a healthy pregnancy resulting from any implantation are too low and the amount of care she’d need to complete a pregnancy would put a burden on our resources. But there are other ways for her to contribute.”

John didn’t even try to disguise his horror. He knew men like Moriarty existed but to find himself here, now, at the mercy of this man was something he hadn’t envisioned.

“I know this is a lot to take in. It’s a brave new world out there. In here, we offer safety, shelter. It’s not be underrated John.” As he spoke, he let his hand trail up and down John’s arm.

“We have both women and Omegas here, available for an exclusive clientele and carefully screened.” At John’s look, he spoke in what John assumed was meant to be a reassuring tone.

“Don’t look so worried, John. Your fertility is worth far more to me than your attraction as an Omega. I’ll see that you're protected while you’re here." His hand cupped John’s chin, thumb gently caressing John’s jaw. Bile rose up in John’s throat, as he instinctively moved his bound hands up to shove Moriarty away.

The mood changed in an instant. Moriarty’s hand slapping hard across John’s face, rocking him backward.

“That wasn’t very nice, was it John?” Moriarty said, as John backed away. “I’ve fed you, clothed you, promised you protection and shelter. All I ask in return is your cooperation, your obedience. There’s nowhere to run, Omega, nowhere to hide. You’re tagged and bound.” Moriarty lost all pretense of kindness and reassurance, features distorted by anger.

John realised Moriarty was speaking the truth. Right then he was in no position to run or fight. He needed to bide his time until an opportunity to escape presented itself, however long that might take.

Moriarty could see the surrender in his eyes. “Come here, Omega.” He ordered, crooking a finger at John.

John forced himself to step forward and held himself still as Moriarty reached for him again, surrendering to the touch of the man’s cold hands.

***

Ordinarily Sherlock ignored his brother’s summons but things were not going to plan and, as loathe as he was to admit it, he needed Mycroft’s help.

He walked in to find Mycroft sitting at a desk strewn with paper, looking older than he had ever seen him.

“And once again you return empty handed brother.” There was no attempt to hide the scorn from his voice.

“What were you expecting? Did you think I’d been hiding women and Omegas in my pockets?” Sherlock took a seat across from Mycroft, slouching down in the chair, knowing it would irritate his brother.

“I was hoping you’d been hiding them somewhere. It seems better than the alternative.”

“You’re referring to the Genesis Institute, I presume?”

“We haven’t had any luck infiltrating them as yet. We had a security guard on the periphery briefly. His body was fished out of the Thames a month ago.”

“I agree, trying to infiltrate the Institute is futile. It's too well protected. I had another avenue in mind. The Pavilion.”

“The Pavilion?” Mycroft looked mildly bemused at Sherlock’s declaration. “I have one or two people there already, feeding us information. It’s been of minimal value so far. What would be the use of sending another person in there?”

“I’m not talking about another person, I’m talking about me.”

“Again, I ask, what use would another person, even someone as illustrious as you, be in that den of immorality?”

“Rumour has it that the Pavilion and the Institute are linked somehow. Infiltrating one might make the other accessible.”

“So what do you need from me, Sherlock?”

“A way in. I’ll take it from there.”

Mycroft sat back, contemplating.

Sherlock spoke again, knowing just what buttons to push to sway Mycroft’s decision in his favour.

“We’re not winning the reproductive war, brother. The numbers of women and Omegas we know to have survived far exceeds the numbers we’ve managed to locate. And on the rare occasions we get a lead that pans out, the Institute’s people get there first. They’ve even infiltrated our own network, paying our people to pass them leads first. We need to figure out how they’re locating them and where they’re holding them. The Pavilion is the way to do that.”

Mycroft steepled his fingers together, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke, his tone concessionary.

“If you are sure this is the best avenue to pursue, then I’m not going to stand in your way. I’ll contact the people we have inside and make the arrangements. Someone will be in touch.”

Sherlock stood.

“Do be careful little brother, I wouldn’t want any harm to come to you. All indications are that we’re dealing with some very dangerous individuals. It’s a pity the pandemic couldn’t have been more selective in who it took and who it left behind.”

“Oh, I don’t know brother. It left us untouched, didn’t it?” Sherlock’s sardonic remark hung in the air as he strode out the door.


	5. Moves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will likely be a little less frequent from here. I was ahead of myself but now I'm not.

Sherlock spent two weeks meeting contacts, and contacts of contacts. One of Mycroft’s people, already well established in the Pavilion, had vouched for him as being someone else entirely. A British man who, before the pandemic, had business and managerial experience in Omega brothels in Europe. His reappearance on the scene was explained by his having been on the continent when the outbreak peaked and having stayed to see what he could salvage of his business before recently deciding to return home. Mycroft confirmed that the man in question had survived the pandemic and had made his intentions to return to England known. But he had been waylaid by Mycroft’s people when he'd arrived by boat a few weeks prior and was now languishing somewhere dark and dank.

After crawling along at a snail's pace, it picked up all of a sudden and Sherlock found himself invited to a meeting with someone higher up in management. It was held in a cafe on a side street that was otherwise deserted. The cafe was open sporadically, depending on available supply. Some days all you could get were pear smoothies or wheat cereal, other days they had eggs with egg dishes of all varieties.

This week there was a surplus of apples. Apple pie, baked apples, fresh apple juice. Sherlock declined food but accepted tea, eyeing the man across from him carefully. He looked to be retirement age, silver hair gracing his temples. Probably quite handsome back in his hey-day. He looked Sherlock up and down for a moment, keen eyes assessing him in return, before gesturing to the car that idled beside the pavement. The door opened and a suited man scurried out, clipboard in hand, and took the third seat at their table, positioned on the street just outside the cafe door.

“If you don’t mind, my assistant will take notes.”

“Not at all.” Sherlock replied, trying and failing not to sound bored.

“So, you’re looking for a job?” The man asked, a smile accompanying his mocking tone.

“I’m offering my talent and expertise to those I feel would most benefit from it. If you’re not interested…” he let it hang in the air, casting a glance at the street.

“The pandemic has left a vacuum in all sorts of areas. We do lack people with suitable expertise in managing our interests. And you have manifold experience in one of those interests.”

Sherlock tried not to let his impatience show. These people were so slow, they moved as if by stop frame animation.

“We did have one question however.”

“Of course.” He tried to sound magnanimous.

“Why Omega brothel keeping?” Despite the mundanity of the question, asked in almost every interview, the man's eyes bore into him, keenly awaiting his answer.

“It seemed a natural niche for an Alpha of my talents.” He could tell from the look on the man’s face, and the way his eyes flickered to his assistant, that he wasn’t satisfied. “And there’s something so satisfying about seeing an Omega on its knees, submitting to the dominant force in the room. Whether that’s me, or someone else.” The smile that graced his face was predatory.

The assistant tapped his pen twice on the clipboard he held and the man sitting across from him smiled back at Sherlock. He'd passed the test.

“Perhaps you’d join us for a drive?” He gestured to the idling car next to the pavement.

“Of course.” Sherlock stood as they did, nodding to the waiter as they left, the bill already settled. He followed the men to the car.

The back of the car was spacious, consisting of a forward facing and backward facing seat. The assistant sat facing backward, the manager sitting forward. Sherlock decided to show his hand a little and sat next to the manager. The man seemed a little startled and looked to his assistant, confirming again what Sherlock had suspected before he’d even sat down.

The assistant laughed, a sound that grated on the ears.

“Howard, I think we’ve been rumbled. When did you figure it out Mr. Jenson?”

“David, please.” Sherlock replied smoothly. “And I know how people in this business operate, Mr…”

“Moriarty, James Moriarty. My friends call me Jim.”

“Well, Mr. Moriarty.” Sherlock continued, deliberately not using the man’s first name. They weren’t friends and both of them knew it. “I would expect nothing less than caution from an operation of your standards. But the pen tapping confirmed what the frequent glances had all but given away.” After a pause, he added. “A little more practise and I’m sure you’ll have it seamless.”

He could tell he’d pushed a button there, anger flashing briefly in Moriarty’s eyes.

“Let’s get down to business, Mr. Jenson.” Moriarty replied, no trace of anger in his voice. “We have what I believe to be the largest collection of women and Omegas in the country. Provided to an exclusive clientele. I had been managing it myself but I’m afraid some of our other interests have rather taken off and I no longer have the time to devote to it. I need someone with experience in these matters, someone with a firm hand who can keep the operation steered in the right direction.”

He glanced at Howard then back to Sherlock.

“I propose a month long trial. I will remain available during that time in case we run into problems but I intend to give you free reign in so far as possible. You come highly recommended.”

He paused. “We do have some rules to be discussed. About the use of our selections by staff. It’s forbidden for all but the highest level of employee and then, only by special permission, given by me.” He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

“I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Moriarty. I’m extremely selective in who I take to my bed.” Sherlock fixed him with a bland smile, noting again the flash of anger in Moriarty’s face at the perceived insult.

He’d have to be careful. He suspected Moriarty’s temper, when unleashed, would be vicious. He intended not to be its target.

***

Two weeks in the Red House was enough for a lifetime, John mused, as he helped out in the infirmary. They only had two patients. One woman and one male Omega. The woman had a bad chest infection and a history of asthma. They were isolating her from the other residents so it didn’t spread. The Omega had been injured during a special request by a client that Moriarty had approved. A client with a knife fetish. The session, he’d heard, had been most carefully supervised, and the cuts were, by design, shallow enough that they’d all heal fully without scarring. The trauma to the Omega’s mind was something else entirely but it was rumoured they’d dosed him with midazolam so he wouldn’t remember most of it.

As John carefully bathed the cuts on his chest, the Omega’s eyes opened, panic on his face.

“Easy, Derek. It’s just me. You’re safe.” The young man relaxed back onto the bed with a sigh. “What time is it?” His voice was hoarse, probably from screaming.

“Almost lunchtime. Are you hungry?”

Derek grinned. “Starved. Please tell me I’m not on a liquid diet?”

“No. Toast for you and some scrambled eggs. And jelly and ice-cream. Moriarty’s orders.” Derek shivered at the name, smile faltering. He took a look at John’s face again. “No new bruises?”

“He’s been busy the past few days.”

“You shouldn’t fight him so much John. He’d lose interest in you then. It’s the fight that excites him”

John knew what Derek said made sense but he struggled to submit to the Alpha. It just felt wrong. Not submitting was why John sported a rainbow of bruises across his body. The day they’d arrived, Moriarty had made clear that John would be staying in the Red House until his heat arrived. He wouldn’t be expected to service clients but Moriarty didn’t consider himself a client.

The first night, he’d handcuffed John to the bed, face down, and had run hands along his body, slipping cold fingers under his clothes. The more John had fought and struggled, the more energetic Moriarty became, laughing at John’s squirms. Then he’d turned serious all of a sudden. “Enough now. I need to examine my newest purchase.”

It was the first time John had heard him refer to them in a monetary sense, confirming what he’d suspected; that he’d been sold out, literally.

John had heard the snap of gloves and, sensing what was coming, struggled more earnestly, focusing on putting tension on the headboard he was cuffed to, feeling a little give in it.

When he’d continued to struggle, Moriarty had lost patience, climbing on top of John, knees pinning John’s legs to the bed. John tried to buck, push him off, but the angles were all wrong.

“Now. Let’s take a look.”

He had heard an odd sound he couldn’t quite place, then the scrub top was pulled taunt and a snipping sound heard. It took John a minute to realise that Moriarty was cutting the clothes from his body with a scissors. He took his time, working his way up the material across his back, then sliced along each of the sleeves.

“Keep still John. I wouldn’t want to cut you by accident. What a waste that would be.” The thought seemed to excite Moriarty and was enough to still John’s struggles.

When he’d done both sleeves, he bunched the fabric in one hand and yanked, pulling it out from under him.

“Now, John. I’m going to get up off you and cut the rest of these pitiful excuse for clothes off. I won’t stop if you move. So you’ll keep still, do you hear me?”

When John didn’t reply, a hand gripped his hair, pulling his head off the bed at a painful angle. “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. _Do you hear me_?” He drew out the sentence, enunciating each word precisely.

John had kept quiet. Testing the boundaries.

“You are trying my patience John. I have a little remedy for your selective mutism. I usually reserve it for those who can’t hold their tongues.” He let go, walking to the nearby dressing table. John turned his head to see what the man was doing, but Moriarty’s body obscured his actions and the light in the room was dim.

Moriarty returned, hand gripping John’s head by the hair again and lifting it.

He'd moved two gloved fingers, coated with something dark red in colour, towards John’s mouth.

“You’re going to open up for me, like a good boy. If you bite me, I’ll pull you teeth out, one by one, while you’re awake. I’ve done it before. Teeth are superfluous to an Omega’s usefulness.”

Moriarty pushed his fingers against John’s lips, pressing insistently. The threat of having his teeth pulled was enough, John opening his lips to admit the Alpha’s fingers. His lips had begun to tingle but it was nothing compared to the burn when whatever was on Moriarty’s fingers was smeared over his tongue and the inside of his mouth.

“Lick them, John.” Moriarty insisted, grip tightening on John’s hair.

He had done as instructed, tasting heat from whatever was on them and the underlying latex from the gloves. Moriarty withdrew his fingers, releasing John’s head and patting it absently. “There’s a good boy.”

John barely heard, too focused on the burning sensation that was spreading across his mouth and lips.

He was so distracted that Moriarty’s gloved hand on his waist startled him. The snip snip of the scissors came again, the cold scissors brushing the cleft of his buttocks. He only just noticed, his mouth now on fire.

Soon enough he was completely naked and felt Moriarty’s gloved hand on his ankle.

“You were so good for your ultrasound, John. I expect you to be good for me too. If you are, I’ll give you something to cool the burning in your mouth. Oh, and don’t worry, I changed my gloves. I made that mistake once before. From all accounts, the burning sensation is just as intense in other orifices.” The amusement was clearly audible in Moriarty's voice.

The idea had made John shudder, even as Moriarty gripped his ankles and pushed them further apart. He knew he should have submitted, knew he shouldn’t have fought, but as the man’s hand reached between his thighs, the wrongness of it overcame any other instinct and John kicked out…

“I hear there’s a new guy.”

Derek’s voice drew John back to the present and away from the horror of his first night there. The bruises hadn’t fully faded though he’d earned new ones since. The blisters on his mouth had fully healed and he could eat and drink without pain once more. He pushed those thoughts away and focused on the most popular topic of conversation in the Red House that week. The stranger.

“Yeah, he’s been hanging around the past few days.”

Literally. Like a shadow, he seemed to bend himself into corners, remaining almost unnoticed. He was tall, pale and Alpha. Rumour was rife around the place about who and what he was. A spy for Moriarty was the general consensus among the captives but the guards weren’t saying anything.

“I hear he’s handsome.”

“I suppose. If you like that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?” Derek asked eagerly. There wasn’t a lot of excitement to be had here.

“Tall, dark, mysterious.”

“Dreamy?” Derek asked with a wistful smile. “Babs has pronounced his cheekbones sinful. Make from that what you will.” John replied, securing the last waterproof plaster across Derek’s chest. “There, that’s you done. I’ll see where your lunch has got to.”


	6. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Allusions to underage abuse/non-con and non-graphic physical abuse.

Moriarty had been gone for days, and the Red House's doctor called away, so John found himself unexpectedly in charge of the infirmary. It was a welcome distraction from thinking about his future and ruminating on his failure to find an escape. It wasn’t that he hadn’t looked or tried, but the building was secure. The windows had bars on them and there were only two doors, both guarded by armed guards twenty-four hours a day. And the ankle bracelets they wore set off alarms if they weren’t scanned through the security system before they exited.

Hearing the stories of the other captives further disheartened him. And there were rumours. About Moriarty. About his tastes, his habits. And his punishments. John had had first hand experience of some of it but it seemed so far he’d gotten away lightly.

That afternoon, the guards brought an Omega to the infirmary. He was young, just turned seventeen John had heard, though they hadn’t spoken before. He was sporting a black eye and a lip split so badly it would need stitches. There were bruises coming up on his arms and abdomen as well.

“It’s Joshua, isn’t it?” John asked, sitting next to the young man, keeping his movements as slow and nonthreatening as possible.

Joshua nodded, a few tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up, there’s a good lad.”

John didn’t know the story of his infertility. Joshua wasn’t much of a talker according to house gossip.

He gently cleaned the wounds and numbed Joshua’s lip with some lignocaine before stitching the wound closed. It only required three stitches, but would take time to heal and would most likely scar.

The Omega responded to his gentle care and began to speak quietly, stuttering as he tried to get the words out.

“He…he wasn’t sup…supposed to hurt me like that. Mr. Moriarty promised. That’s why there were guards in the room. But… but they didn’t stop him until… until it was too late.”

John comforted the young man as best he could, settling him in bed with a mild sedative and recruiting Babs, the unofficial den mother of the house, to watch over him.

He found the guards who’d been assigned to Joshua’s room. They were lounging on one of the landings, laughing and joking.

“Do you need something Omega?” One of them asked dismissively when they noticed him standing next to them.

“Yes, a word please. About Joshua.”

The guards looked amused at his tone. “What about him?”

“You were in the room with him when the client hurt him.”

“Yeah. We were.” The guard responded, squaring up to John aggressively.

“Tell me then, what use are you when you don’t step in until after the boy has been beaten bloody?” John’s voice rose as he spoke. It provoked further aggression from the guard, who grabbed John’s shoulder in a painful grip.

“Now listen here Omega…”

A bored voice interrupted him.

“I’m sure whatever you’re going to say is utterly fascinating but I should point out that, as per Mr. Moriarty’s orders, this Omega is out of bounds. Strictly hands-off.”

The guard turned to look behind John, where John guessed the stranger had once again secreted himself into some dark corner where he could observe them unobtrusively.

“So I would let him go if I were you.” The stranger’s voice turned sharp and John’s shoulder was released abruptly.

“The two of you can report to the head of security for a new assignment. Now.” He added, when neither man moved. They stormed away, their footsteps fading as they descended the stairs.

John turned around slowly to come face to face with his would-be rescuer. From that little scene, he guessed the suspicions were true, the man _was_ a spy for Moriarty.

“It must really infuriate you.” The man remarked. “Being stuck in here when the battle for the very survival of humanity is going on out there. Soldiers don’t weather peace time well. Or captivity.”

“Moriarty’s told you about me.” John remarked.

“All he said was you were hands-off to anyone who wasn’t him. And something about you being a flight risk. Between you and me, given the security here, it would take someone a bit cleverer to engineer an escape.” The comment was off-hand, as if the man didn’t realise he’d just insulted John. But by this point John was fairly immune to insults. This had at least been somewhat original, compared to the crude jeers that were a favourite of the guards.

The man turned and strode off down the corridor. John sighed, relieved the interaction had come to an end, and turned back towards the infirmary. But the man’s footsteps paused, his voice carrying down the corridor.

“With me, Omega. Now.” His voice was sharp and John reacted to the commanding tone, hurrying towards him. The man continued down the corridor, taking long strides, necessitating John to jog to catch up with him.

He paused suddenly, John almost colliding with him, and unlocked an innocuous looking door. He walked inside, gestured John into the room, then closed the door behind them.

It was a small office, sparsely furnished with an empty desk and some chairs. John paused a few steps into the room, awaiting further direction. The Alpha didn’t seem inclined to give any. He walked slowly around John, observing him keenly.

It was unsettling, John very aware that he was an Omega, trapped in a room with an Alpha. Sure, if the Alpha tried something, he could fight him off like he had Moriarty but John wasn’t honestly all that sure if he’d be spared blame for any injuries or if Moriarty would consider him culpable somehow. If he could, it might be better to ride it out.

The Alpha paused in front of him, looking him up and down.

"I’ve never met an Omega who was in the military. Or a trained medical professional. You’re quite unique.”

John couldn’t help but grimace at the use of the word. Being unique was no longer a positive attribute but a marker for suffering.

The Alpha frowned at him, turning his head to the side then reaching out towards him. John didn’t quite manage to restrain his flinch.

The man’s frown deepened. “Oh. You think I’m going to…” He pulled his hand back, letting it drop heavily to his side.

Part of John’s problem right then was that, while he sensed an instinctive wrongness with Moriarty, there wasn’t the same skin crawling, shudder inducing feelings with this man. He was quite bland on the senses and now they were in close contact, John felt the slightest sense of attraction, which surprised him. In the many years since he’d presented as Omega, he’d rarely been attracted to an Alpha.

The man seemed about to speak again when he was distracted, looking over John’s shoulder.

When he did speak, his voice held that sharp commanding tone from before. “Kneel. Now.”

Wide-eyed, John did as instructed. “Head down. Eyes on the floor. Do not look up until I tell you to.” The man spoke quickly but quietly and John could hear the footsteps in the corridor outside.

There was the briefest of knocks before the door swung open.

“Ah, Mr. Moriarty. Impeccable timing. Your special charge is in need of some discipline, I believe.” The nonchalant tone was in contrast to the sharp orders from before.

“What’s all this?” Moriarty’s melodious tone caused a shudder to run through John from head to toe.

“I came across the Omega taking some guards to task for their dereliction of duty where another Omega was concerned. He was right, incidentally, and they’ve been removed from their posts but this Omega doesn’t appear to know his place in the hierarchy.”

“And you were going to enlighten him?” There was only the slightest hint of tension in Moriarty's tone.

“Of course not. He is hands-off, as per your instructions, and I would never assume to interfere with your authority. My intention was simply to remove him from the general population. I’m concerned about his influence. If the others witness guards being challenged…” he let the sentence hang.

Moriarty circled John like the other Alpha had minutes before. John kept his eyes to the floor, trying to seem submissive. “I did worry about his influence on the others. Once he’s pregnant, the hormones will settle him but until then he needs a close eye and a firm hand.”

He turned back to John. “On your feet, Omega. Eyes up.”

John stood slowly, looking up to meet Moriarty’s eyes. The man was more dressed up than normal. Tailcoat over an elaborate waistcoat. He even carried a top hat in one hand and a cane in the other.

He stared into John’s eyes for a full minute and John couldn’t help but defiantly stare back.

Moriarty broke eye contact abruptly, moving to his left where an armchair sat. He put down his hat and cane, then unbuttoned his jacket, removing it and laying it neatly on the chair. Then he unfastened his cuffs and pushed up his sleeves.

“A hand please, if you will, Mr. Jenson.” Moriarty said. John didn’t know what was going on, but the Alpha, Mr. Jenson apparently, moved without hesitation to John’s side. John found himself pulled towards the table by both men then lifted onto it, laid length ways and face down on the hard surface.

“Hold him down.” Moriarty said, and John was pinned to the desk by the strong arms of the Alpha, one arm across his back, the second just below the back of his knees.

He still wasn’t sure what was about to happen, except that it was going to hurt. It became clearer when Moriarty stripped the slippers and socks from his feet, leaving them bare. John turned his head to watch as Moriarty went to the armchair, picking up the discarded cane.

“Like teeth,” He commented cheerfully, “feet really aren’t that important to an Omega’s usefulness. I’ve given you a lot of leeway John, but you need to learn that the world has changed. Your position in life is no longer what it was. An Omega’s place isn’t on their feet, but on their knees. I think a little lesson to reinforce that will be beneficial to us all."

John should have struggled, should have fought, even though he knew it would only worsen Moriarty’s mood and the severity of the punishment. But the proximity of the Alpha holding him down was having an odd effect, the hands on him enforcing an unnatural stillness.

He barely had time to wonder about it as he heard the cane whip through the air and the first stroke landed across the soles of his feet. He went rigid as pain lanced through him. The second strike followed swiftly and John couldn’t hold back his cry. Still, he didn’t struggle. The third and fourth blows hit already abused skin and he cried out in earnest.

“I hate to do this to you, John. But you haven’t let me a lot of choice, have you?” Moriarty's tone was at odds with his words, sounding excited rather than remorseful.

The next blow, the next cry and the Alpha holding him murmured “Hush now, John.”

John’s cries quietened automatically, though his breaths still came in sobs.

Moriarty paused, and John could hear an unhappy note to his voice when he spoke. “That's enough I think. Wouldn't like to cause any permanent damage.”

He moved back to the armchair, pulling down his sleeves and fastening his cuffs.

“Mr. Jenson, our western service requires an addition to their catalogue. We have one new selection coming in this week. I prefer our new arrivals to be trained here so please choose one of our current selections, female, to be transferred. Have a look through their catalogue and see if there’s any niche we could fill without leaving a gap in our own catalogue.” As he spoke, he donned his coat and hat.

The Alpha’s hands were still on John’s body, holding him still. “Of course, Mr. Moriarty, I’ll see to it immediately.” His tone was bland politeness.

“See to it John is kept isolated from the rest. My orders still stand, hands-off to everyone but me.”

"Of course, Mr. Moriarty. Consider it done."

John watched through eyes blurred with tears as Moriarty left, leaving him alone with the enigmatic Mr. Jenson.


	7. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading and those who've left kudos/comments. A gentle reminder that I have chosen not to use archive warnings and tagged quite minimally. This is a work in progress with minimal story planning and as such I can't tag/warn for things that may/may not or definitely aren't going to happen. I will continue to warn on a chapter by chapter basis as needed.

Sherlock’s hands were still pressed against the Omega lying across the desk. Moriarty strode from the room, coat-tails flowing behind him, and Sherlock felt some of the tension leave him. Moriarty was unpredictable and nowhere near as easy to read as the vast majority of people left in the world. 

He turned his attention back to his charge. The man hadn’t moved, hadn’t even tried to. A few tears had leaked from his eyes, his breaths still coming in strained gasps.

He’d felt the Omega’s reaction to him and noted his own curious response. He had heard Omegas could induce protective feelings in Alphas but, until today, he hadn’t ever noticed that response in himself. Still, he had done what had to be done and now he needed to deal with the consequences.

He tried for comforting, seeing how the Omega had reacted positively to his earlier words. “It’s alright now, John. It’s over.”

He took his hands off and John moved as if to turn over. “No, stay there.” Sherlock commanded quietly and the Omega stilled. “John, you’re going to need to talk me through the best thing to do right now.” He took a closer look at the Omega’s feet. “Your feet aren’t bleeding, he didn’t break the skin, but there are red raised weals. Perhaps ice-packs?”

The Omega didn’t reply.

Sherlock moved to the other end of the desk, where the Omega’s head lay. He crouched down, bracing himself on the edge of the table and brought one hand up to the Omega’s face. John flinched. “Shh, easy now, John. Moriarty is gone, you’re safe.” He stroked gently along the side of the Omega’s face, knowing an Alpha’s touch could also be comforting. John endured his touch with stoic silence at first before sighing and relaxing against his hand, blinking away the tears.

“There, that’s better. Can you sit up? Don’t let your feet touch anything.”

He helped the Omega swing his legs around and sit up on the edge of the desk. He saw pain distort John’s face as he moved.

He reached for John again, feeling him automatically relax under his touch. And not just John, Sherlock realised, as the tension coiled within him eased as well. This was a complication he hadn’t anticipated.

He found himself saying words he wouldn’t normally voice. “I am sorry about what just happened John. I’m afraid Moriarty has to be handled carefully and you were the sacrificial lamb on this occasion.”

The Omega peered at him in confusion before looking away.

“Now, I need to move you somewhere. You have your own room don’t you? You obviously can’t walk so I’ll carry you. And then you can tell me what to get from the infirmary for your feet.”

The Omega seemed to struggle to follow Sherlock’s lightning quick speech but didn’t protest when Sherlock picked him up, one arm under his knees the other around his upper body. Sherlock recalled the building floor plan he'd memorised and headed straight for John’s room. When he got there, he sat him down on the side of the bed, ensuring his feet remained off the floor.

He took a quick look around, seeing what they had to hand to make John more comfortable. He found some extra pillows in the wardrobe.

“Would you rather lie on your stomach or on your back?” He asked. John didn’t reply so Sherlock chose for him. He wanted to talk to the Omega and it would be easier if they could do so face to face.

He explained his plan to John and, with his cooperation, got him lying propped up with pillows against the headboard. The extra pillows went under his calves, lifting his feet and keeping them from contacting the duvet.

“You’ll need to be off your feet for a few days at least I'm sure. The Doctor will be back this evening. I’ll ask him to check you over. For the moment, Dr. Watson, tell me what you need.”

It was the use of his title that seemed to get through to the Omega finally. “Um, icepacks, antiseptic cream, some ibuprofen. Oh, and can you check on Joshua? Ask Babs to give him some more solpadeine in an hour or so. He should have some food as well. A soft diet so he doesn’t aggravate his lip wound. Soup, ice-cream, that sort of thing.”

It was startling to see the transformation from stunned Omega to competent medical professional. Sherlock nodded to acknowledge John’s requests. “I’ll be back to you shortly. Please try not to move.”

Sherlock walked quickly to the infirmary. There were so many questions, so many diversions his mind was trying to take. He needed to focus on the most important, which had been something Moriarty had said. About John becoming pregnant. 

It was the first time he’d heard the word pregnancy uttered by anyone here. He was well aware that all the unfortunate captives here were infertile but knew there had to be some connection with the people trading in fertile women and Omegas but so far there hadn’t been any concrete proof of a link. Now he had one.

His visit to the infirmary was brief. A woman in her forties, bedecked rather alluringly which contrasted sharply with her instinctive protectiveness of her young Omega charge, took note of his instructions from John and helped him locate what John had sent him for. 

“Is John alright?” a quiet voice piped up. The young Omega was watching him with solemn eyes. “He is in some discomfort, but he’ll be fine. The Doctor will be back this evening to check on you both.” Sherlock tried for reassuring again, surprised when it seemed effective, the young man relaxing back down on the bed at his words.

***

John’s feet throbbed in pain. They felt twice their normal size as well. He wiggled his toes a little and experimentally tried flexing his feet, assessing for broken bones. Pain lanced through them but he didn’t think there were any fractures. Moriarty’s blows hadn’t even broken skin, and bone took a lot of force to break from that kind of impact.

Mr. Jenson’s action had confused him. He seemed to have walked John right into that punishment at Moriarty’s hands, even held him down, but then had comforted him both during and after, even going so far as to apologise for it. Clearly he was playing some game too. John wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was. 

And then there was the other thing. The attraction. It was more problematic than he’d realised. The Alpha’s touch was comforting, so unlike when Moriarty touched him. He wondered if it was mutual?

The Alpha arrived back with not just the items John had requested but a tray from the kitchen with food.

He set it down on John’s bedside locker, handing him the ibuprofen pills. He looked from John’s face to his feet and back. “I may need some instruction on how to proceed.”

“What, they don’t teach you basic first aid as part of your brothel keeping degree?” The retort was instinctive, John only realising what he’d said after the words left his mouth. He nearly clamped a hand over his lips, but it was much too late.

The Alpha stared back at him impassively. Was it John’s imagination or was there the slightest twitch at the edges of his mouth, like he was trying not to smile?

His reply was deadpan. “I’m sure it was in there somewhere, filed away between how to use a calculator and contraception for dummies.” He did smile then. “Step by step if you would, Dr. Watson. Moriarty seems to have a vested interest in you. And, as much as his actions would suggest otherwise, I very much doubt he’d be pleased to have you permanently hobbled.” John tried not to shudder at the mention of Moriarty. He was fast becoming the he-who-must-not-be-named of the Red House.

“I already have a limp, so I doubt it would make much difference.”

The Alpha turned his head to the side, dark eyes observing John closely.

“Except your limp is psychosomatic. A complication from this injury would be rather more physical and thus more permanent.”

Which was exactly what his psychologist had said to him, the last time he’d seen her, which was just before the height of the pandemic, just before Harry…

“How did you know that?” He asked, caught between curiosity and defensiveness.

“There wasn’t any trace of it this morning when you marched up to confront those guards.”

“You’re very observant.”

“It’s my job. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Dr. Watson. I assume I’m holding antiseptic cream for a reason, the longer we wait the more chance of infection setting in.”

John nodded, sitting up a little. In part he’d been delaying the inevitable because he knew the next bit was going to hurt.

“I know the cane doesn’t appear to have broken the skin, but it’s probable there are small tears…

John talked Mr. Jenson through applying the antiseptic, then, between the two of them, they worked out how best to apply the ice packs to John’s feet without putting too much pressure on them. In the end it simply required an adjustment of the pillows under his legs to change the angle his feet were at. The cold wasn’t pleasant at first but after a few minutes it numbed the sharper pain and John began to relax. He ate the bowl of soup and bread roll the Alpha had brought him.

Mr. Jenson sat on a chair next to the bed and watched him eat.

“You haven’t been here long, have you?” He asked.

“No.” John shook his head, answering between spoonfuls of soup. “A few weeks.”

“A little newer than me then.” The Alpha smiled.

John’s instinct told him there was an agenda to this conversation, though he couldn’t think what it could be.

“Where were you before you came here?” He asked the Alpha. 

“Oh, on the continent, watching my business go down the drain.” Mr. Jenson said, sounding bored. “The economy hasn’t been great for brothel keeping this past year, what with most of our employees and clients dying.” The last part was tongue-in-cheek, the Alpha watching for his reaction.

“I think it’s a disgrace that a clearly distinguished man like yourself can’t make a dishonest living in this day and age.” John answered, careful to keep all traces of amusement from his voice.

“Oh how I’ve missed having a verbal sparring partner. You’ll do nicely. Tell me John, where were you before you came here?”

John shrugged, unwilling to be too specific. If he did manage to escape, he didn’t want them tracking him down easily.

“Different places. Safer to keep on the move when you’re someone in my position.”

The Alpha shook his head, sitting forward, eyes intense. “No, I mean right before you came here. Moriarty must have had you somewhere else, brought you somewhere where they confirmed your fertility?”

And the agenda suddenly became clearer. It wasn’t what John had expected. Jenson worked for Moriarty, surely he knew the ins and outs of the operation? Maybe this was a test? If so, John had no intention of failing.

“I wasn’t anywhere. You should ask Mr. Moriarty those questions, not me.” He waited cautiously for the Alpha’s reaction.

Mr. Jenson sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and relaxed, smiling pleasantly at him.

“You’re right, of course, John. Eat up, your soup is getting cold.”

John gave an internal sigh of relief and did as he was bid, turning his attention back to his food. He wasn’t sure what was going on here, but he knew he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it.


	8. Manoeuvres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-graphic implied reference to attempted non-con

The early morning sun reflected off the water, the acrid smell of smoke carried on the wind. Sherlock watched carefully for any sign he was being followed. He wouldn’t put it past Moriarty. He heard his brother long before he saw him, footsteps reverebrating along the concrete.

“Sherlock. I'm glad to see you're in one piece.”

“Mycroft.”

“You have some news I take it? Or are we just out for some sightseeing.” He commented, taking in the ruined buildings surrounding them.

“I’ve found a link. A fertile Omega at the Pavilion.”

He could see he had Mycroft’s attention. “Who? I’d like to cross-reference with the Omega database.”

“The Omega whose location we were appraised of a few weeks back. The one Martins sold out. Did you ever locate _him_?”

“We fished his body out of the river. It’s becoming rather a theme where childbearer trafficking is concerned. That Omega… we had almost narrowed the identification down. Let me see if I can guess. The military doctor. Watson, wasn’t it?”

“Very perceptive brother. He’s been in the Red House for about two and a half weeks. He was taken three weeks ago. He was clearly held somewhere in between, where they confirmed his fertility.”

“But you haven’t found out the location?”

“Not quite. The Institute is headed by someone we’ve both heard of. James Moriarty. I’ve had the pleasure of putting a name to the face. Moriarty is rather paranoid and extremely careful. All his interests are managed completely separately. John is the first connection I’ve found and Moriarty has a special interest in him.”

“Perhaps he’s not the only one?” Mycroft replied. “You did just call him John.”

Sherlock chose to ignore his brother's needling.

“He’s the only link to recovering the women and Omegas you’ve been so desperately searching for.” Sherlock replied. “I’ve been trying to get the information we need from him, but he’s spent a little too much time suffering at Moriarty’s hands. He’s wary and I haven’t yet gained his trust.”

“You’re not usually this slow, Sherlock. Couldn’t you engineer something, an attack by a guard perhaps, and save him from it? Muster up a little hero worship?”

He caught the look Sherlock tried to hide. “Oh. Well, that is unexpected. I can’t remember the last time you had any sort of attraction to an Omega. Why is he in the Pavilion, as it happens? I can’t see Moriarty being so cavalier as to subject his fertile captives to that kind of treatment. Pregnant Omegas being so sensitive and all that.”

“He’s not officially on the books. Moriarty has orders that he’s not to be touched by anyone except him. I suspect he’s waiting out the washout period for whatever suppressant John was using. The way the guards talk, it’s not the first time. He brings the feistier ones to the Red House, breaks them in before they go elsewhere.”

“Is your John broken in?”

Sherlock forced himself not to react to Mycroft's pointed words. “No. It appears Moriarty likes to take his time and he has been rather distracted with other interests of late.”

“So what is it you need from me, Sherlock?” Finally Mycroft decided to get down to business.

“I need you to be ready. When I find the location the fertile captives are being kept in, we’ll need to move quickly on both locations. I guarantee you Moriarty has a plan that will see them uprooted and installed in another location within hours.”

“I’ll have my people prepared and standing by. Oh, and what will you do about the Omega?”

“I’ll do what I can, but I can’t put the welfare of one over that of many.”

“Good, I’m glad you see it that way. We wouldn’t want you getting sentimental or attached, would we? I’ll be in touch.”

***

Once again it seemed boredom might actually be the death of John. He’d been confined to bed for three days. There was a guard at his door and he wasn’t permitted visitors except the doctor and Mr. Jenson. And he wasn’t allowed out of bed except to use the bathroom.

Mr. Jenson had personally brought every single one of his meals so far. It had led to an argument the previous evening where he had snapped that he wasn’t a dog and his loyalty couldn’t be bought with food. The man had seemed taken aback. “Would you rather I return it to the kitchen?”

“Oh, just give it here.” He’d muttered, holding out his hands for the tray. Mr. Jenson's hands brushed his as he transferred the tray to John's grip.

“Do you want me to leave?” He’d asked. John held his tongue. He didn’t want to form a dependence on the man’s company, especially seeing as he’d be back at the hospital in a matter of weeks, being impregnated to order.

Mr. Jenson seemed to hover uncertainly, before turning and heading for the door.

As he reached for the door handle, John couldn’t hold his silence any longer. “Stay, please. I could do with some company.” The smile the Alpha aimed John’s way sent warmth through him.

He’d been looking forward to seeing him again this morning, even though he was counselling himself about not getting attached. The man was an admitted criminal, a brothel keeper and he was overseeing the abuse of those being held in the Red House. Not even a true Alpha-Omega attraction could blind John to that.

Still, the approaching footsteps alerted him to the man’s arrival and he sat up to greet him, schooling himself not to appear too eager.

The door opened. No knock. Mr. Jenson _always_ knocked.

“There you are, John. Still in bed I see. Just as well. I’ve been far to busy to give you the attention you deserve.”

A pair of metal handcuffs dangled from the man’s hand. “I think it’s time we remedied that, my little Omega, don’t you? Now, do we need the guards, or are you going to behave?”

Moriarty stepped inside, the door closing behind him with an ominous click.

***

It was still early when Sherlock arrived back at the Red House. He saw the looks the guards were giving one another.

“When did Mr. Moriarty arrive?” He asked. “Half an hour ago, sir. He’s gone up to his Omega. Said he’s not to be disturbed.”

“Of course.” He forced himself to sound nonchalant, while he searched his mind for a good reason to interrupt Moriarty. A reason that wouldn’t raise suspicion.

He’d considered and discarded at least a dozen scenarios by the time he’d started ascending the stairs. He’d reached the tenth step when a voice called for him. “Mr. Jenson, sir. There’s a message for Mr. Moriarty. It’s urgent.”

He retraced his steps, listening the the guard in full before making his way to John’s room.

“Mr. Moriarty doesn’t want to be disturbed.” The man guarding the room warned him.

“Needs must.” Sherlock said, knocking loudly on the door.

“I said no interruptions.” Moriarty snapped as he flung open the door a few moments later.

“I’m sorry to intrude, sir. There’s a message for you, from Humphreys. It’s urgent. Some kind of attack.”

Moriarty rolled his eyes, glancing briefly back into the room behind him before stepping out and closing the door.

“I suspect I won’t have the pleasure of returning to John’s company today. This is getting rather tiresome. I’ll send a car for him this afternoon.”

He walked down the corridor and Sherlock followed. “I’m staying in quite a beautiful penthouse at the moment. It seems I’m not likely to spend as much time in the Red House as I had anticipated and I don’t want my brief opportunity with John to go to waste. He’ll be comfortable there. Relatively speaking, of course.”

“Of course. I can see why you’d want him available to you.” Sherlock admitted. He knew Moriarty wasn’t stupid. He’d seen their interaction when he’d last been there, and would have heard from the guards about Sherlock visiting John.

“There’ll be other opportunities, between pregnancies, if you’re still interested.” Moriarty offered. “I usually lose my taste for them once the pregnancy hormones have kicked in. Far too submissive for my liking.”

“That’s very generous of you, I usually make it a policy not to mix work and pleasure but changing times necessitate changing habits. Perhaps, when the time comes, I’ll take you up on the offer.”

Moriarty smiled, looking pleased at his response. Sherlock buried his revulsion deep.

***

Sherlock stayed in the room while Moriarty spoke to Humphreys on the phone. He couldn’t hear the full conversation but could see Moriarty’s face grow angrier as the conversation continued.

“Problems?” Sherlock asked, as the call ended.

“At attack on one of the other houses.”

“Repelled, I assume?”

“Partially.”

“This has happened before?” Practically a rhetorical question, given Moriarty's line of work.

“Of course, more so in the earlier days. This is the first in months. It was well organised, but isolated.”

Moriarty sighed, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor. “I need to deal with this. I want you to go through security here with a fine tooth comb while I'm gone. I don’t want to take chances.”

He stepped towards the door before turning back. “I’ll send a car for John at two. Even more reason now to move him somewhere more secure.” And then he was gone.

Sherlock checked he was alone before pulling out his phone and sending a short text. Next he went to the kitchen and picked up a breakfast tray.

Finally, ignoring his every Alpha instinct telling him to run upstairs to the Omega, he forced himself to walk at his normal, admittedly fast, pace.

He gave his customary knock, balancing the tray on one hand, then let himself in, giving the guard a brief nod as he passed the threshold.

The sight that greeted him filled him with anger and he had to struggle to keep it under control.

John was on his knees, handcuffed to the headboard.

“John, it’s me, S.. Jenson.” He cursed the near slip of his tongue. This _wasn’t_ the time to lose focus, not now.

The Omega tensed at his voice but didn’t answer.

“Moriarty has been called away to deal with some business. You’re safe, for now.”

John shuddered visibly at the name of his tormentor but stayed silent.

“I’m going to free your hands now John.”

Moriarty had left the key for the handcuffs on the bedside locker. No doubt another way to torment the Omega, leaving the tantalising possibility of escape within reach.

He tried to visibly assess for damage. He could see John’s wrists were abraded from pulling at the cuffs. He was dressed but his clothes were in disarray. Hastily redressed by Moriarty when he was interrupted? Unlikely, Moriarty wasn’t the type to care that much about an Omega’s modesty.

He reached over slowly, long fingers steadying John’s hands as he released the cuffs, one wrist at a time.

“John, how badly are you hurt?” He held one of the Omega's hands in his then helped him sit back on his haunches before crouching down next to the bed.

“Dr. Watson, if you’re hurt, you need to tell me now so I can get the doctor before he leaves.” He tried for authoritative, knowing John had responded well to the use of his title before, but it didn’t provoke a response. John’s eyes were closed, a bruise swelling up under his right eyelid.

“John, please.” He whispered. His plea was what finally got through to the Omega, who shook his head slowly, opening his eyes. “I’m not hurt, not really. He… you interrupted before he could…”

Sherlock didn’t give in to the temptation to sigh with relief.

“Here, let’s get you sitting down. It’ll be easier on your feet.” He said, gently helping John into a more comfortable position before taking a seat on the side of the bed. “Do you think you could manage some breakfast?”

John shook his head. “No, I don’t think I could stomach food right now. How long will he be gone?” His worried eyes met Sherlock's.

“A while, I think. But he has plans to move you. He's grown impatient at not being able to progress with you as he had intended. I’m afraid today’s interruption has only worsened the situation.”

“I’m going back to the hospital?” John asked.

There, proof at last of what he’d long suspected.

“Hospital?” Sherlock questioned.

John paled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, Moriarty told me not to talk about it. Said he'd cut my tongue out.” The man was just crazy enough to carry out the threat and they both knew it.

“It’s fine, John. No harm done." Sherlock soothed, stroking John's hand gently. "But no, not the hospital. He mentioned a penthouse, where he lives at present.”

He watched John take the information in, paling further. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you can get me out of here before then?”

Oh how Sherlock wished he could say yes. But he had priorities, promises to keep. He let his hand reach for John's face, caressing his cheek gently, offering some comfort and empty platitudes. “I’m sorry, I wish I could, I truly do.”

John didn’t look surprised at his words, but rather resigned to them. Despite himself, he relaxed under the Alpha's touch. Sherlock took advantage of the situation, of their proximity.

“John, there is one question I have to ask you. And it’s very important. Do you know where the hospital is? Could you find your way there if you needed to?”

He knew it was a risk asking the question, but it was important he ask while he still had the chance. There was a lot riding on the answer.

John seemed to consider for the longest time before replying. “No. Moriarty asked me the same question after we got here. I mean, I know it’s not far from here, geographically speaking. But… we came up from underground, the windows of the car were dark and, it's _stupid_ I know, but I was paying more attention to Moriarty at the time than where we were.”

“That’s alright, John. Thank you.” Sherlock reassured. Well, he had his answer at least.

"If I had to guess though, I'd say it was a private hospital. Maybe one of those cosmetic surgery clinics. Very modern feel to it." That gave Sherlock pause for thought. John's answer had been more illuminating than expected.

"What time am I leaving?" John interrupted Sherlock's train of thought.

"After lunch. Would you like to say goodbye to your friends? We'll make an exception to Moriarty's visitor rule, just this once." John tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. Sherlock knew just how he felt.


	9. Sidesteps

There were a lot of things Greg missed since the world had crumbled. His wife. Sunday lie-ins. Bacon. He’d even missed Sherlock’s texts, as cryptic and infuriating as they could be at times.

Until they, they being Mycroft Holmes, got some of the cell towers working again. And now he was back to alternating between wishing he could drop his phone in a glass of water and wanting to shove it down Sherlock’s throat.

He’d only seen Sherlock a handful of times since the pandemic had really taken hold. Donovan had been one of the earlier victims, with Anderson succumbing days afterward. That was back when they were still having funerals. Sherlock had arrived in New Scotland Yard a few hours after the service for Donovan and minutes after they’d learned of Anderson’s death. He’d seen them all gathered around and enquired, with the air of someone irritated by their idleness, what they were all celebrating. Funny that it was him who had to be held back from punching the man, rather than him doing the holding back like usual.

He and his wife had rekindled their relationship briefly, pulling together in the face of increasingly certain doom, but it had been short-lived. She’d gone to stay with her mother, thinking being out of the city made her safer. Little did she know, little did anyone know, that the time for action had long since passed, the incubation period of the infection being longer than anyone had imagined.

Some medical scientist explained it later. How they’d confused a sort of prodrome to the main event as the initial infection period when, in fact, it was the microbe flexing its wings before it took flight, burning its way through the body of its host.

The beep of his phone drew his attention back to the present. He read the message and frowned.

The first had read. “Be on standby this PM. SH.”

The second message was an address.

The third message had him standing and grabbing his coat.

***

John had made a lot of friends in his short time at the Red House. Joshua had wrapped his arms around John’s waist, tears wetting the fabric of his clothes. Babs and Vanessa had had to pry him away, cradling him between them.

There were looks exchanged between the captives. They had a fair idea what Moriarty was capable of and what John had to look forward to. The guards did too, though they took a different view of it, given the sly smiles and nudges among them. Sherlock quelled them with a frown as he strode into the hall.

“We’d best not keep Mr. Moriarty waiting.” He announced in a bored tone.

John turned at his voice, eyes meeting his. They pleaded with him, even though he didn’t say a word. Sherlock forced himself to ignore the Omega, despite the effort it took. “Guards, escort the Omega to the car. Take it slowly though. His feet are in a delicate condition.”

John didn’t resist as the guards stepped up. He’d already been handcuffed again, and registered through the security system as he exited. He turned his head to look back at Sherlock as he was lead out, Sherlock moving to keep John in sight for a little longer before he forced himself to turn and walk back inside, gesturing to the guards to disperse the other captives back to their rooms.

***

John was walked back through the hotel, feeling more keenly than he had when he’d arrived the shame and embarrassment of being led in cuffs through the lobby while everyone stared. Perhaps it was that, with Moriarty, people hadn’t dared to stare at the shackled Omega. Without him, they were free to ogle. Pain lit up his feet with each step, the thin slippers he was wearing providing little protection.

A car idled outside the door. John was pushed inside, a guard following him.

“I’d take a good look if I was you.” The man said. “You won’t be seeing the outside world much where you’re going.” John forced himself not to give the guard the satisfaction of a reaction.

The car pulled away from the kerb, gaining speed as it travelled down the street. They turned a corner, then turned again at the next junction, only to find the road ahead of them blocked with debris. “What the hell?” The driver muttered, before reversing quickly and taking another route. It happened twice more, the guards getting more and more unsettled.

John didn’t like it either. Clearly this wasn’t something the guards had seen before. There was a sense they were being herded.

“I’m calling it in.” The guard beside him said, pulling a phone from his pocket as they reversed for the third time. Out of nowhere, a vehicle pulled up, blocking the junction they were headed for.

“What the hell?” The road, empty moments before, suddenly flooded with people. Brightly coloured people. 

“Ah, crap. Doomers.” The driver said. “Call for back up if you want, but we won’t need it. Maybe let them know we’ll be delayed until this clears up.”

John had heard of Doomers. They’d appeared a few months after the pandemic had reached its peak. Initially they were just people who'd lost touch with reality after all the death and loss. But then a few more charismatic and enterprising people had got involved and what had initially been a nickname for the damned became a movement. They were harmless mostly, but were known to deride people who clung to the old world. Surrounding cars was a habit of theirs, a not-so-gentle rocking the worst the occupants normally suffered, unless they were stupid enough to get out and fight back.

Their car was surrounded, faces painted a rainbow of colours peering in the windows. The guard beside him took a firmer grip of his weapon. “It’ll be fine. We just ride it out and stay calm.”

The car started to rock, back and forth. John decided this was as good a distraction as he was going to get. He reached his shackled hands for the door, pulling ineffectually at the handle.

“Where do you think you’re going, Omega?” The guard asked, turning toward John as the car rocked. The general instinct with Omegas worked to John’s advantage for once as the guard relaxed his grip on his weapon. “Doors are locked of course, for your safety as well as ours.”

John let his head drop, subtly mimicking a submissive posture as the car rocked again. He even let a small sound of fear escape from between his lips, playing up the illusion.

“Don’t worry Omega, we’ll protect you.” The guard said, relaxing his grip on the weapon further and leaning towards John.

John took a deep breath in, then lunged, bound hands grabbing the guards weapon and tugging it from his hands before he let it drop to the floor between their feet. 

“What the hell are you doing?” The guard shouted as he reached over to get it back. He let out a curse as the car rocked again, throwing him off balance, his head bent over next to John's legs.

John's movements were swift, practised. He wrapped his handcuffed arms around the guards neck and pulled hard, angling as best he could to put pressure on his trachea.

“Open the doors or I’ll kill him.” He shouted at the driver. The guard he had in the stranglehold was flailing, hands scrabbling at John’s cuffed wrists.

The driver looked around, alarmed, as the car rocked again, harder.

“The doors. Now.” John shouted. He could see the panic in the driver’s eyes as he took in the sight in the back seat before reaching to press a button to the right of the steering wheel. There was an audible click as the doors released. He let the guard go, the man gasping for breath and grabbing at his neck, while John scrambled for the door, pulling the handle and pushing out hard against the bodies pressed to it.  The pressure released suddenly as the door was wrenched open from outside. John fell forward and hands grabbed him, pulling him bodily from the car. He struggled to get his feet under him as he was tugged back and forth.

Words were shouted, above and around him, as he was dragged further into the crowd, passed through pairs of hands.

Then, unexpectedly, the crowd thinned and he was set on his feet next to the pavement. The men who released him turned to the car once more, putting their backs to him. He didn’t waste time trying to figure out what happened, instead ducking into the nearest laneway. Seconds later he heard the sound of a gunshot reverberate from the street. He started running, knowing he needed to put some distance between himself and the car. He ignored the sharp pain that spread through his feet as they pounded the pavement beneath him.

He looked back over his shoulder relieved to see no one was following him. He needed to get rid of the cuffs and the ankle monitor. And soon, or his bid for freedom would be short-lived.

Turning his attention back to the path ahead of him, he skid to a halt on finding the way blocked by a man. He glanced behind him, confirming he still wasn't being followed, then faced the man again, forcing himself to stand tall, to make it look like taking him on would be more trouble than it was worth.

“Don’t run, John.” The man said, holding his hands up and showing his empty palms. John took a step back, eyeing him with suspicion. One of Moriarty’s people?

“Jenson sent me. I’m here to help you. My name is Greg, Greg Lestrade. I’m a police officer. Though I know that doesn’t mean as much these days as it used to.” He spoke calmly, not moving.

There was more noise from the street and John glanced behind him again but the sounds weren't moving in their direction and no one appeared in the laneway behind him.

“John. Dr. Watson. We need to get that ankle monitor off you and get you off the streets. Sooner rather than later. Then I'll explain everything, I promise. Okay?”

John turned back around. The man hadn’t moved, watching him carefully.  “Okay.” John said finally, nodding his head, breath coming in quick gasps. “Okay.”

“Good.” The man replied with a smile, moving slowly towards him.

Two minutes later his cuffs were off, his ankle monitor lay smashed on the ground and he was limping behind Lestrade through winding laneways and side streets as they crossed the city.


	10. Situations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it took longer than expected to update this time around. Warning for somewhat graphic violence against an unnamed original character.

They hadn’t got more than a mile or so before John’s injured feet became a real problem. The thin slippers he wore didn’t provide much of a barrier against the ground they were treading across.

Lestrade directed them down another side street, pulled out a phone, and made a call, stepping away from John and speaking quietly to whomever was on the other end.

“Alright. Plan B. I’d rather we went on foot, attract less attention, but I don’t think you’re going to make it given how much you’re already limping. Sherlock didn’t say you were hurt.”

At John’s questioning look, he clarified. “Jenson. He sometimes forgets the human stuff.”

“I can still walk.” John offered, not wanting to be the reason they were held up, or worse, recaptured.

“No, you can’t. Don’t worry, we’ll be off the streets in a few minutes.”

John leaned against the wall, trying to take some of the weight off his feet. He spoke to distract himself from the pain. “What are you?”

At Lestrade’s look, he elaborated. “Detective? Inspector? Detective Inspector?”

“D.I” he answered. “And Beta, in case you were wondering.”

“I’d guessed that much. You don’t have the attitude of an Alpha.”

“Ah, the Alpha swagger.” Lestrade replied, with a grin. “Wait until you see Sherlock in full blown detective mode.”

“He’s a police officer too?” John asked in surprise.

The other man laughed. “God no. Sherlock would be a disaster in the force. He’s… well, I’d better leave that for him to explain. He does it much better.” His phone beeped as they heard a car pull up.

“Here’s our lift. Can you walk to the car? Here, lean on me.” He offered John his arm, supporting him as he limped towards the main road where the car waited.

Lestrade greeted the driver and opened the back door, guiding John inside before walking around to the other side and climbing in beside him.

The car took off slowly, gaining speed as it reached the end of the road and turned at the crossroads.

“John, this is Officer Paul Jones. He’s our designated driver for today.”

The driver lifted his hand from the steering wheel and gave John a brief wave in greeting. “Don’t worry gents, we’ll be back inside a designated safe area in fifteen. It’ll be smooth sailing from there.” He sped up, taking the next turn unnecessarily fast, in John’s opinion.

“Don’t worry. Paul here completed the advanced driving course before everything went to hell. If you want anyone at the wheel in a tense situation, it’s him.”

“Good to know. Where are we going? You said something about a safe zone?”

“We’re going to New Scotland Yard, which is in one of the designated safe zones in the city. It’s not fully barrier-ed, like some of the others, but there are limited entrance and exit points for vehicles and those are manned checkpoints. And there’s patrols, working electricity and landlines in some areas.”

John nodded. He’d heard about barriers going up but had assumed it was some sort of tribalism, people protecting their own.

“So you’re working for some form of government? There’s still some kind of establishment in operation?” He'd heard rumours but hadn't been sure what to believe.

“Yes and yes, more or less. There were contingency plans put in place due to the lead in time we had with the pandemic but we lost more than they’d estimated and things haven’t run smoothly. There were… other factors we hadn’t anticipated. You’ve encountered one of those, I’m guessing.”

“If you mean Moriarty and his house of horrors, then yes, I’ve had firsthand experience.” John didn't elaborate despite the curious look the DI aimed his way.

“So, Dr. Watson, how does an Omega get a medical degree and end up in the army, no less.” Lestrade neatly changed the subject.

“Luck and determination. I happened to be in the right place at the right time to take advantage of the brief relaxation of the Omega recruitment rules. The law changed midway through but they allowed anyone already in place to continue.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, John watching the world pass by with interest as they drove through familiar streets.

“What happened to your feet? Anything you need a doctor for?”

John shook his head. “They’re fine, it was just a bit soon for a jogging session.” At Lestrade’s sharp look, he clarified. “My feet had an unfortunate encounter with a cane, repeatedly. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Sounds bad enough, mate. We’ve a doctor on staff, we’ll get them to check you over.” He held up a hand when John started to protest.

“No arguments, John. Just the fact that you’re an Omega earns you a medical check regardless, I’m afraid. Nothing invasive.” He added, catching the look on John’s face. “Just need to make sure there’s nothing obvious wrong that we can sort out.”

“Do I get a say?” He asked, unable to keep the irritability from his voice.

“Well, just between you and me, if you say no, we can’t exactly force the issue.”

They pulled up to a checkpoint, armed and uniformed officers patrolling. One strolled up to the driver side window, which Officer Jones opened, nodding and holding out an ID badge.

The guard peered into the back seat, nodding at Lestrade in greeting. “Detective Inspector.”

“Officer Diaz isn’t it? We’re on escort duty. Headed back to the Yard.”

“Welcome back. Take the long way around, there’s some kind of street council going on.” He stepped back as the barriers opened and waved them on.

***

Sherlock did his best to act surprised when Moriarty’s guards returned sans Omega.

“You lost him? How, pray tell, did you _lose_ him? No, don’t bother. You can explain it to Mr. Moriarty. _His_ Guards, _his_ Omega, _his_ responsibility.”

The guard shut his mouth and paled. “Get Humphreys on the phone.” He barked at his nearest guard. “Tell him we need urgent contact with Moriarty. The car he sent was set upon. His Omega is gone.”

“Stay here.” He commanded Moriarty’s guards. “Call me as soon as you hear from Mr. Moriarty.” He instructed his own, before striding back to his office.

He was doing as Moriarty had bid. Going through the Pavilion security with a fine tooth comb. He identified fifteen areas of weakness, four of which he had detailed on his report. The others he was planning on making good use of. But still, as much as he was determined to rescue the unfortunates stuck here, it wouldn’t be much good if they saved them but lost the hospital inmates. The intelligence they had suggested Moriarty’s captives were concentrated in only a handful of places but they needed more information and right now the only person who had any, was John.

He heard the commotion and strode downstairs to find an irate Moriarty standing between his own guards and the Red Houses' guards.

“Mr. Moriarty sir, I’m glad you’ve arrived. Your guards informed me of the complication they encountered. Can I be of any assistance in locating your missing Omega?”

Moriarty scrutinised him with suspicious eyes. Not unexpected. He was no fool. Sherlock knew there was a significant chance the man would suspect he had something to do with the Omega’s disappearance. But he would be hard pressed to find any link between Sherlock and John’s vanishing.

“No, you can’t. I have people looking. We’ll have him back soon. It appears he had the misfortune of being found by some pro-government forces. It may have been a coincidence, they’re known to monitor Doomer group activities. And Doomer groups have been known to intervene in the transport of people against their will. Had John not managed to exit the car, he'd be exactly where he's supposed to be.”

He turned his attention from Sherlock to his guards, both of whom were pale. “Still, it was extremely careless of you to lose him. It’s not clear to me how it happened.” He turned to the guard whose neck was ringed with bruising. “He grabbed your weapon from your hands, then… strangled you with his handcuffed wrists?”

“Yes, sir.” The man rasped. Sherlock saw two men who’d accompanied Moriarty step up behind the guards.

“And you.” Moriarty spoke to the other guard, the one who’d been driving. “You unlocked the car, allowing the Omega to escape.”

“Yes, sir.” The man responded, sweat trickling down his face.

“You were careless. Careless with my property. And now, my property is lost. Do you think that’s acceptable?”

“No, sir.” Came the chorus of replies.

There was a sharp nod from Moriarty and one of the men stepped up behind the guard who’d been choked. There was a glint of metal and Sherlock forced himself not to react as the man acted. He had a pair of handcuffs held between gloved hands and he lifted them over the guards head, pulling back sharply, tugging hard so the chain between the cuffs pressed into the guards throat, cutting off his air supply. The guard’s hands grabbed for his neck, trying to pull the cuffs away, remove the constriction.

The driver moved to his aid, only to find a gun pressed to his head by Moriarty's second man.

“Are you really that keen to save him? His mistake is the reason you’re here. Someone has to pay for it. If not him, then it will be you.”

Moriarty laid out the ultimatum, seeming unconcerned at the other guard struggled, red in the face. The driver turned his head to the floor.

“No. Watch. Everyone. Anyone who looks away gets a bullet to the head. It’s a new world, boys and… well, boys. There’s a high price to failure. Are you willing to pay it?” Moriarty asked, tone grating on Sherlock's ears.

The guard slowly turned blue, knees giving way as his struggles ceased. The man strangling him didn’t let up, the other man with the gun pressed to the driver's head didn’t waver. All eyes were on the dying guard.

A nod from Moriarty and the man released him, the guard dropping to the floor like a stone.

“There now. What have we learned today?” Moriarty asked in a sing-song voice, eyeing all the guards standing in the room. “Perhaps that we don’t do stupid things like let our merchandise escape. We wouldn’t be in business long if we were careless in that regard.”

He fixed the driver with a glare. “You’ll be reassigned. I don’t give third chances. Unless you want to end up like your friend, I’d be very careful if I were you.” Warning delivered, he turned to Sherlock. Sherlock knew this display had been as much for his benefit as for the guards.

“You’ve identified some security issues?”

“Yes, if you’re free to discuss them we could retire to my office.”

“Lead on, Mr. Jenson. Some tea wouldn’t go amiss. It’s nice to keep these things civilised.” Sherlock led the way, watching his step in more ways than one.

***

John was more content than he’d been in weeks. He was sitting in Lestrade's office, a cup of tea and a half eaten cheese and ham sandwich in front of him. They’d doled him out some ibuprofen for the pain and brought in a stool and a cushion for him to rest his feet on.

At first he’d felt uncomfortable and unsettled, but two cups of tea later and he’d relaxed. It helped that the doors were open and there were people bustling about, normal everyday people. A few of them had popped in to introduce themselves or check if he needed anything. One of them was ex-army and they’d had a few colleagues in common.

They’d called a doctor but determined there was no rush in having him check John out, so Lestrade had told him to take some time to equilibrate. John wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean exactly.

He’d had questions but it quickly became clear that Lestrade didn’t have many answers and those he did have he wasn’t too keen to share. When John had suggested he might get up and leave, he’d been surprised by Lestrade’s response, which was to assure him he was free to leave at any time but that he’d strongly advise John not to leave the protection the building afforded him. John wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but had wandered around a little, noting smaller and bigger details. Working cameras, sensors, armed guards patrolling outside, guards on nearby roofs.

The feel of the place was very different to the hospital and the Pavilion. More about keeping people out than keeping people in.

He was halfway through his third cup of tea when Lestrade returned, a young teenage boy in tow, wearing a hoodie, head covered and looking sullen.

“John meet Sam, Sam, John. I thought you two could keep each other company for a bit. You both have something in common. And someone.”

They regarded each other, less than convinced by Lestrade’s statement.

“Tall, curly hair, Alpha, infuriating?”

“You know Sherlock?” The boy exclaimed, and the timbre of his voice gave the game away. Teenager? Yes. Boy? No.

“Sam?” John asked. “Short for Samantha?” The girl nodded hesitantly, pushing the hood down from her face. He reached a hand out, smiling when she grasped it and shook. “John, Omega. Nice to meet you.” Laying his cards out on the table like she had.

“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Lestrade left and Sam took a seat across from John. She eyed the half a sandwich on his plate. “Help yourself.” John said, sliding the plate towards her. She grinned, reaching for it and he knew he’d won her over. “So, what do you say we compare notes on this Sherlock fellow? National man of mystery, eh?”


	11. Extractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the unplanned hiatus. When stressed I write almost pure angst which isn't helpful for more plot driven stories like this. Thanks for all the kudos, comments and encouragement.

They’d given John the room next to Sam’s to sleep in. Most bedrooms he saw as they passed slept at least two but he guessed they felt Omegas and women were better left on their own. Exhausted by the day's events he fell into a deep sleep.

A hand on his shoulder and a whisper woke him sometime later. “John?”

He sat up, alert but unable to make out the dark form crouching beside his bed. It reached for him and he flinched back on instinct, raising a hand to protect himself.

“It’s alright, John.”

“Jenson?”

“I’d like to tell you we’re past that point and you should call me Sherlock, but I may need to preserve my alias for a little longer.”

The mattress dipped slightly as the Alpha sat on the edge of the bed.

“I need you to come with me.”

“Now?” It was the middle of the night.

“Now.”

Five minutes later and he was dressed and following the other man through the building towards the door. Lestrade accosted them before they made it that far. His hair was in disarray and he had the look of someone just woken from sleep but resigned to being awake.

“Sherlock, what do you think you’re playing at? Taking John out of here is putting him back in harm’s way.”

“John has information I need.”

“So question him here.”

The two men squared up against one another.

“I _need_ him. There isn’t time to waste.”

Lestrade turned to John. “You shouldn’t leave the protection of these walls. You can’t trust Sherlock to put your welfare above all else.”

John didn’t know if he could trust Sherlock but he was equally unsure whether he hadn’t just exchanged one prison for another, admittedly more comfortable, one. Sherlock had been right the first time they'd met. John was longing for action, for something to do. He wasn’t a ‘sit and wait’ kind of person.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

He could see how unhappy Lestrade was with his response but was relieved the man didn’t appear about to stop him.

“Take care of him. Don’t let him fall back into Moriarty’s hands.”

Sherlock looked back at him impassively then walked past Lestrade and out the door. “I’ll be in touch.” he called over his shoulder.

“Watch your back, John. And remember, Scotland Yard will always be a place of safety for you.”

John nodded, thanking Lestrade again, then followed Sherlock out into the night.

***

It was raining; heavy, wetting drops . They’d hardly gotten a hundred feet from the building and John was already drenched. It didn’t seem to deter Sherlock who strode ahead. John struggled to match his pace, the ache in his feet steadily building.

They’d been walking for twenty minutes when the rain finally stopped. John was trailing further and further behind when he’d finally paused, limping to take a seat at a bus shelter a few steps to his right.

Sherlock kept walking then slowed to a stop, head turning left and right before he looked around and saw John.

“What are you doing?” The taller made strode back in his direction.

“I need a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute. We have to cross through an un-barriered section of the city and we need to do that before dawn.”

“Well, unless you can carry me, I need five minutes off my feet.” He snapped in reply.

“Oh, of course. Your feet. I’m sorry, John.” The Alpha conceded. “We do need to hurry, please.”

Sherlock was more careful when they started walking again, ensuring John was alongside him and slowing his pace a little.

They came to a checkpoint. Sherlock greeted the guards and they were waved through.

Sherlock picked up the pace once they left the safety of the barriers. “This section of the city is usually quiet but it’s open access. There’s still some risk.”

It took ten minutes to reach the next barriered area, the burn in John's feet occupying almost all of his attention.

“Why not just add this section to the barrier?” John questioned as they passed through the checkpoint, as much distract himself as to get an answer.

“Resources. Politics. The usual.” The Alpha replied, sounding bored.

The rain restarted, falling ever more heavily. They were both soaked to the skin, their clothes sticking to them, when they stopped at a door and Sherlock fished out a key.

“Welcome to 221b Baker Street. My home.” Sherlock said quietly as he ushered John in the door. “My landlady is probably in bed, so we’ll try not to wake her. She can be bothersome at the best of times.”

Sherlock led they way up the stairs, John following slowly. By now his feet were a constant throb of pain and the rest of him was cold and wet.

Sherlock disappeared for a moment, returning with a towel which he handed to John. “Here. Take those clothes off and dry yourself. I’ll find you something to wear.”

John, shivering, started peeling off his sodden clothes, casting around for somewhere to leave them and settled on piling them neatly on the table. He dried off, wincing as he rubbed a little too roughly over the bruises on his abdomen. Quiet footsteps alerted him to Sherlock’s return and he turned. The Alpha set a pile of clothes down on the sofa next to them.

“Some of these should fit you.”

“Thanks.” John was torn between drying himself off so he could dress and wanting to shield himself from the Alpha’s gaze.

The decision was taken out of his hands when Sherlock held out a hand. Wordlessly, John handed him the towel.

The Alpha took it then pointedly looked John up and down. It took effort not to cover himself with his hands or grab for the clothing that was just out of reach.

“Turn around.”

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, John did. He wasn’t sure what Sherlock was doing. Looking for injuries?

The Alpha’s hand brushed his shoulder and John startled. “Shhh, it’s alright.” His touch, light but firm, pressed just below John’s shoulder blade and he couldn't hide his wince of discomfort.

“I’m sorry, John…”

***

The clothes did fit, though loosely, so they clearly weren’t Sherlock’s.

His aloof, seemingly uncaring attitude hid a typical Alpha’s nature and John found himself off his feet and bundled up in blankets in the Alpha’s bed. The Alpha himself was pacing in the other room, on the phone with his brother.

John knew he needed as much sleep as he could get but found it hard to relax. Lestrade was right. Leaving Scotland Yard was probably going to cost him dearly.

It was just before dawn when front door opened, other voices entering. Sherlock came in, getting him up and out of bed to greet the unfamiliar men. “They work for my brother, Mycroft.” Sherlock explained. They didn’t stay long and he was ushered back to bed. He couldn’t fall asleep this time, shifting and turning until eventually he got up again. He found Sherlock sitting by the window, peering out into the early morning light.

“So what are you? Lestrade wouldn’t tell me. Said you’d answer the question best.” John questioned as he took a seat on the sofa.

“I used to be a consulting detective. When the police were stuck, they’d call me. Now I mostly work for my brother.” Sherlock sounded disinterested and John felt distinctly that this wasn’t what Lestrade had meant.

“And Mycroft works for the government?”

“Mycroft _is_ the government. What’s left of it.”

“And he had you tracking down Omegas?”

“And women of childbearing age. But Moriarty’s operation puts ours to shame. Better resourced, better prepared. Probably the brainchild of one of our more morally ambiguous senior politicians or civil servants.”

John frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“They were a little too organised and acted too quickly. They must have been compiling a database of surviving childbearers long before the government released the true mortality projections. Which means it had to be someone with inside knowledge.”

John found himself yawning as they talked. “And now you’re trying to track down the ones who managed to hide, like me.”

“I was, but they’re fast running out of nooks and crannies. Now I’m more interested in finding the ones already caught. Like the others at the hospital.”

That had John’s attention, as the Alpha surely knew it would. “What do you need to know?” he asked. The barrage of questions that followed slowly exhausted him. When he couldn’t quite keep his eyes open, a not so subtle prompting from the Alpha sent him back to bed.

***

Sherlock could almost hear Mycroft and Lestrade’s voices in his ear, like the devil and the angel on his shoulders. He did his best to drown them both out as he sat next to John who was growing drowsier by the minute. Mycroft’s “Don’t get attached, Sherlock.” was crystal clear. Lestrade’s was no less clear, though the message varied. “Don’t let Moriarty get his hands on him.” “Keep him safe, Sherlock.”

He dampened down their voices with a multitude of thoughts and plans. Anything to keep from feeling the emotions those words induced. That _he_ induced, the Omega only inches from him. It was there again, that feeling, that attraction. And the damned thing was growing stronger. John’s eyes would meet his now and then, and his heart would beat that little bit faster. A betrayal of his human biology. This wasn’t the time or the place for this to rear its head.

He forced himself to get up and move away towards the window, even as they kept talking. The Omega was more asleep than awake so he felt justified a few minutes later sending him back to bed. He’d had enough excitement for one day and tomorrow would surely bring more.

Sinking down onto the recently vacated sofa he went over everything one more time. John had told him as much as he could recollect about the hospital, down to the most seemingly insignificant detail. Underground parking, the shape of the building, the number of floors. It was enough for Sherlock to work out where. But that was no longer sufficient. Moriarty’s network was vast and barely interconnected. If they took down one part, the rest would bury themselves deeper, protect themselves better, and keep going. They needed to take them down simultaneously.

***

John woke to a new voice, the timbre unfamiliar. He got to his feet, wincing at the soreness that spoke to overuse of already tender skin, and wandered out to find Sherlock lying on the sofa, fingers steepled and apparently deep in thought while another person pottered around, tutting at the piles of clutter everywhere.

“Sherlock. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, I’m not your housekeeper…” She trailed off as she caught sight of John.

“Oh, hello dear. I didn’t realise Sherlock had company. You must have come in very late last night.”

“We did, Mrs. Hudson, and took pains not to disturb you. This is John Watson. John, this is Mrs. Hudson, my landlady.” Sherlock sat up abruptly, then stood. “Who has a fondness for herbal soothers.” He added in an undertone. Which would explain her being hard to disturb at night, despite all the comings and goings.

“For my bad hip, Sherlock.” The older woman protested before smiling hesitantly at John, her eyes pausing over his bruised face.

“You weren’t fighting again, were you Sherlock?” There was fondness behind the unmistakeable note of disapproval in Mrs. Hudson’s voice.

“No fighting. John got himself into a spot of bother and I was helping him out of it.”

“Oh. Well, how about some breakfast and a cup of tea, dear. Good if you’ve had a bit of a shock.”

On cue, John’s stomach grumbled.

“Yes, let’s feed him. A hungry Omega is a cranky Omega.” Sherlock’s replied distractedly, his attention on a map he had spread out across the coffee table.

Mrs. Hudson’s expression softened even as her eyes widened.

“You found one.” She breathed out. “Oh Sherlock. I…” Sherlock cleared his throat and Mrs. Hudson subsided. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Half an hour later and John was sitting at a hastily cleared spot at the table, a mug of milky tea sitting next to a plate of toast, beans and sausage.

“It’s not much. Tinned beans and hot dog meat, I’m afraid. The bread is fresh though.” Mrs. Hudson said.

“No, this is lovely, thank you. First home cooked meal I’ve had in a long time.” John was being sincere. The food in the Red House and at the Hospital may have been better than most, but freedom gave any food a heady taste.

Sherlock didn’t eat, alternating between pouring over the maps and checking his phone. Mrs. Hudson hovered around, settling for a few minutes in the chair across from John and making idle chit chat then starting to clean and tidy about the place.

“Mrs. Hudson, a word please.” Sherlock said abruptly, and then he was leading her downstairs. John couldn’t hear more than the vague murmur of voices. The Alpha reappeared a few minutes later, donning his coat.

“I’m taking Mrs. Hudson to visit a friend of hers. I’ll be back later.”

“Right.” John replied, trying not to appear unsettled at the idea of being left alone. The Alpha stepped towards him until he was standing right next to John, slender fingers resting for a moment on top of John’s hand where it lay on the table. Their eyes met and something stirred inside him.

And then Sherlock was gone, in a flurry of movement, coat billowing behind him.

“Come along, Mrs. Hudson.” he called as he descended the stairs. “We don’t have all day.”

John couldn’t hear her reply but could make out the indignant tone of her voice. She called up the stairs a minute later. “Goodbye John dear. There’s bread and jam and some biccies in my kitchen cupboard if you get hungry.” Then the front door slammed shut and silence reigned.

There was nothing for John to do but wait.

***

John filled his time perusing the weird and wonderful collection of things Sherlock had accumulated in his flat. There was no trace of the maps he’d been looking at or anything else that seemed important but there were plenty of things to hold John’s attention, for a short while at least. He struggled to settle, again and again finding himself pacing or tempted to stand by the window.

Not a good plan, he counselled, forcing himself to sit and elevate his feet while his mind focused on whatever he could put his hands on. Including an old newspaper from just before things got really bad. The headlines were all about predicted mortality rates and the search for a vaccine or a cure. He’d often wondered how far they’d gotten, suspecting they’d probably had a vaccine before the end but not in time to be of much use.

He picked up another paper from the haphazard pile and, out of habit, checked the date. It was enough to get him back on his tender feet pacing the floors. Oh Harry. She'd succumbed earlier than most.

Lunchtime came and went and he made himself a cup of tea and searched out the biscuits Mrs. Hudson had mentioned. There was something comforting about tea and biscuits, even though nerves were twisting his insides, even though the waiting was interminable.

He tried not to think too much, about Sherlock, about the people left behind in the Red House, about Moriarty.

By early evening he’d worn himself out, mentally as much as physically. He forced himself to lie down on the sofa and rest. It was a light sleep; every sound, no matter how small, woke him. Eventually it gave way to a deeper sleep, so he didn’t notice the rattle of the lock, creak of the door opening or the light footsteps on the stairs.

A hand over his mouth brought him rudely back to full awareness, and he felt the unmistakeable press of a gun to his head. More than one person, he saw, as hands reached for him and he was pulled from the sofa and pushed face down on the floor, arms yanked behind him while handcuffs encircled his wrists. They took no chances this time, a bag over his head throwing his world into darkness.

A mouth pressed close to one covered ear and a voice whispered to him. “Mr. Moriarty has requested the honour of your company, Dr. Watson.” And then they were moving, paying no heed to John’s abused feet as they frog-marched him down the stairs and out the door.


	12. The Ninth Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only had just enough time to get this chapter up so haven't had a chance to respond to any of the comments. They and the kudos is very much appreciated, especially after such a long gap in posting.
> 
> Warning for some non-graphic violence and allusions to non-con in this chapter.

A bumpy ride in the back of a van was the most diversion John had had all day. Hard to appreciate it though, given he was all too aware of his destination.

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed before they slowed to a stop. The doors opened and he was dragged to his feet and out, head still covered. They walked for a bit then stepped into what John realised was an elevator. Were they back in the hospital? But no, this elevator went up and up, more floors than the hospital had had. What had Jenson said? Something about a penthouse?

All too soon John was standing on a plush carpet floor, soft beneath his stocking feet and the hood was pulled from his head. Moriarty was sitting in an armchair next to a fireplace. All that was missing was a cat for him to stroke.

“There you are now, John. I was beginning to worry. You must have got such a fright when those Doomers surrounded the car like that.” Moriarty’s voice grated on John’s ears and it was all he could do not to wince.

“Well, never mind, you’re safe now and finally we'll be free from interruption.”

He stood and John took a half step back. Moriarty raised an eyebrow and continued towards him undeterred.

“Now, now John. I thought we’d gotten past all that. Do you need a little reminder?”

John choked back a laugh and Moriarty reacted, slapping him hard across the face. He tasted blood but forced himself not to respond. If Moriarty was a cat and John a bird, then there was a delicate dance to engage in to let Moriarty play with him but not tear his throat out.

He dropped his eyes, pretending at submission.

“John, John. What am I going to do with you? I’d like to say I’m not going to hurt you, but after everything you’ve put me through, I have to hurt you just a bit.” Moriarty sounded almost apologetic, one hand caressing John’s cheek.

“Nothing you won’t recover from, don’t worry.”

He cupped John’s chin and tipped his head up. The Omega couldn’t help his shudder of revulsion, Moriarty’s proximity rekindling the skin curling wrongness John had associated with him from the moment they met.

“Jenson wanted you for himself, didn’t he? I should have seen it.” He rubbed a thumb along John’s mouth, smearing the blood from his split lip. His thumb dug in suddenly and John winced from the sharp pain, futilely trying to pull his head from Moriarty’s grasp.

“I wouldn’t have thought sentiment of that kind would motivate a man like Jenson, but perhaps he was bought or pressured. Maybe Lestrade offered him you in exchange for his cooperation?”

John’s eyes widened and Moriarty chuckled, the sound sending another shiver down the Omega’s spine. “It wasn’t hard to guess the DI’s involvement given you spent quite a while in Scotland Yard yesterday. A little birdy of mine even saw you there. Jenson was careless leaving you alone like that. But I had urgent business for him to attend to and I suppose he had to do his due diligence.”

John let his emotions play out over his face, like a frightened, submissive Omega would.

“Oh, poor little Omega. All caught up in the spider’s web. What did Jenson promise you, hmmm?” As he spoke, one hand trailed down John’s side. “Don’t worry, whatever it was, you’ll forget it soon enough. I’ve restrained myself for long enough and now I get to enjoy my newest toy.”

His hand tightened around John who found himself forcing words out, knowing the likely reaction but desperate to delay the inevitable.

“It wasn’t what Jenson promised me, it was what I promised him. Something you’ll never have. A bond. A child.”

Moriarty’s eyes glittered dangerously, but his hand, inching its way below John’s hip, stilled.

“What do you mean?”

“Your scent, your whole being, it’s repulsive, toxic. I thought it was just you, just the man you are, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

For the first time since they’d met, John saw a flicker of uncertainty cross Moriarty’s face.

“Now, John. Do you think this little diversion is going to help you? Do you think you can distract me from my plans for this evening?” Moriarty laughed and this time John didn’t even attempt to hide his shudder of revulsion. He’d seen through John, just as the Omega had known he would. But at this stage John’s plan wasn’t distraction, it was _reaction_.

“You tried to force a bond on an Omega, didn’t you? And you don’t like the submissive ones, so you overreached. The Omega was too strong for you. You couldn’t force a bond on them and it backfired. You developed bond sickness from it.”

He’d heard of it only once, while serving in Afghanistan. An Alpha corporal that John had always felt a prickle of unease around. He’d tried to force himself on a local Omega who’d caught his eye. Only it had gone spectacularly wrong. John had been the medical officer on shift but he’d been practically forced out of the room once the situation had been understood. His recollection of the event was mainly the acrid scent of the Alpha that had stayed with him for days afterwards. Infertility, an altered scent and an inability to bond resulted, permanent markers of the Alpha’s transgression.

“All those Omegas, all those babies. And none of them will ever be yours. Just like _I’ll_ never be yours.”

He knew his words had hit their mark when Moriarty reared back. Then his fist swung and caught John’s jaw. He crumpled to the ground, drawing his knees up to protect himself from the kick that swiftly followed. There was little John could do to avoid it, his handcuffed wrists of no use.

While John was trying to get his breath back, Moriarty reached down, fisted his hair, and dragged him back to his feet.

“You _are_ mine. Every minute of every day for the rest of your life you'll think of me. You’ll go through each pregnancy in isolation and every respite between pregnancies will be spent in my company.”

He kissed John’s mouth, a bruising, harsh pressure on his lips. John tried to pull away, crying out when Moriarty simultaneously dug fingernails into the sensitive skin at the back of his neck and bit down on John’s lower lip. Letting go, he pressed his bloodied lips against John’s ear and whispered.

“You’ll thank god every time I put babies inside you and rue every time they’re born. Your body will never be your own, ever again.”

He let John go suddenly, shoving him backwards. The Omega hit the back of a chair with a thud but managed to stay upright, heart racing, watching the Alpha’s every move. Moriarty calmly took off his jacket, undid the buttons of his shirt and began to role up his sleeves.

“It’s high time we got back to the matter at hand. Your betrayal. Every inch of your skin, every muscle and bone not required for procreation will regret what you’ve done to me.”

As he spoke he reached for the cane sitting on the coffee table. He smiled when he noticed how John’s eyes widened as they caught sight of it.

Then John began to laugh, and Moriarty hesitated.

***

_15 hours earlier_

“Turn around.”

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, John did. He wasn’t sure what Sherlock was doing. Looking for injuries?

The Alpha’s hand brushed his shoulder and John startled. “Shhh, it’s alright.” His touch, light but firm, pressed just below John’s shoulder blade.

“I’m sorry, John… I think I made need you to play the sacrificial lamb again.” Sherlock pressed two fingers firmly over a small patch of skin and John couldn’t help shifting in discomfort.

“What is it?” he asked, though he had half an idea already.

“Some kind of implant, I suspect, with a GPS embedded in it.”

“So Moriarty knows where I am?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Why the ankle bracelet then?” he asked, before answering his own question. “So people didn’t _look_ for an implant.”

Sherlock seemed pleased at his deduction. “Exactly. Why look for a hidden tracking device when there’s one right in front of your nose.”

“So what do you need from me?” He’d known there was something. Sherlock wouldn’t have taken him from the safety of Scotland Yard without good reason.

“If that implant is what I suspect then it may be of great use. I'll have someone come and take a look at it. But for us to do what we need to do, we need Moriarty distracted.”

“And I’m the distraction?” John asked.

“Yes. He’d see through anything else we try, but he has a bit of a blind spot when it comes to you. I’ve been running interference between the two of you for days now. He’s beyond frustrated.”

“So you’re saying I need to let him force himself on me so that you can do whatever it is you’re going to do.” John did not like the sound of that plan.

Sherlock frowned. “You’ve spent more time with Moriarty than I have, the man does have a temper. Exploit it.”

“So let him beat me to a bloody pulp?” That plan didn’t sound all that much better.

“Keep him talking for as long as you can. When that fails, get him angry. When that fails, lie back and think of England.” Sherlock seemed bored with the conversation.

“You’re really going to let him…”

“We are short on time and out of options. If there was another choice, I would take it. If you want to return to Lestrade, you’re welcome to, of course, but I suspect Moriarty’s men will pick you up before you get that far.”

John had been stupid. So stupid. He’d let his Omega hormones override his common sense.

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

“High-functioning sociopath. But yes, I know.” There was the merest hint of regret in Sherlock’s voice. “If it’s any consolation, you’re giving your friends at the Red House and those unfortunates at the hospital their best chance at freedom.”

In the hours that followed, that thought was the only thing that kept John from running.

***

Moriarty was eyeing John uncertainly as he tried to contain his laughter.

“I’ve broken Omegas before, but never quite so easily. What is it I’m missing, John? Do you think Mr. Jenson is coming to save you?”

“It hasn’t even occurred to you that he isn’t who you think he is, has it?” John asked, slipping to his knees, his chin dropping to his chest. Sherlock had said to keep Moriarty talking. He hadn’t told John what to talk about.

“Whatever do you mean?” Moriarty asked, using his cane to tip John’s head up, the end jabbing sharply into the soft skin under John’s chin. John knew his body language was confusing to the Alpha, as he swung between defiance and submission.

“I don’t know who David Jenson really was before the pandemic, but the man who has been working for you is someone else entirely.” John explained quietly.

The pressure from his cane disappeared and Moriarty knelt in front of him. His hand caressed the side of John’s face before tipping his head upwards.

“And who is he really, John?” The Alpha’s voice was soft but John could feel the tension in the his fingers where they pressed against his face.

John dropped his gaze.

“Come now, John. I can be very forgiving you know. I _was_ going to break every bone in your hands and feet, but how say we make a deal. You tell me what I want to know, and try really hard to be the submissive Omega I just _know_ you can be, and I’ll let it go. Just. This. Once.” He tapped John’s nose in sync with his last words.

John forced himself to focus on why he was doing this. For the sake of Derek, Babs and Joshua. People who didn’t deserve the life Moriarty had forced on them. For the sake of those babies, who John knew would go to the highest bidder regardless of their intent.

“I think he was one of Jenson’s partners, in his business on the continent. He’s looking for stock.”

Moriarty’s grip relaxed infinitesimally. “There, that wasn’t so hard. Now, your choice. Hands or feet? No broken bones, I promise. Broken skin though, that’s another matter entirely.”

John held his tongue as he was tugged harshly forward, hands on his shoulders pushing him to kneel in front of the coffee table.

“I like variety. It’s the spice of life or so they say. So we’ll start with your hands.”

John tried not to think. Not to anticipate. He almost missed Sherlock, remembering how the Alpha’s presence has calmed him even as he’d pinned him down.

“Now, do I need to call a guard in to hold you down, or will you be a good boy.” Moriarty’s sing-song voice brought John’s attention to the matter at hand.

Before John could reply, the door opened.

“I said _no interruptions_.” Moriarty barked. "Which part of that is so hard to understand?"

John chanced looking up. A pale-faced guard stood in the doorway. “Mr. Moriarty, sir.” He took a stumbling step into the room revealing a familiar figure standing behind him, pressing a gun to the guard's head.

“Jim Moriarty, we meet at last.” More people spilled into the room behind DI Lestrade. John heaved a sigh of relief before letting his forehead rest against the cool surface of the table that had narrowly avoided becoming his sacrificial altar.

He jerked away when a hand touched his shoulder. “Easy, John. It’s just me.” Lestrade waited until John was looking at him before speaking again.

“Let’s get these cuffs off you and get you out of here.” He kept his movements slow and careful as he freed John, who rubbed his wrists, trying to get the feeling back into his fingers. Lestrade led him from the room, everything passing in a blur. He was escorted out of the building and pushed into a car which took off as soon as the door closed. It wasn’t long before they passed through a familiar checkpoint and arrived back at Scotland Yard.

He was guided back inside, back into the room he’d vacated only the day before. He crawled into the bed, pulled the covers over his head and let his eyes close.


	13. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos, any and all encouragement is gladly welcomed. I'm trying to keep to an update schedule of every second day, which I'm just about managing presently.

Moriarty’s voice was whispering in his ear, his skin burning with heat. “Your body will never be your own, ever again.”

He tried to escape the man’s grasp, twisting and turning, but he couldn’t free himself. Then a cool hand stroked his forehead. The touch was familiar, calming, and Moriarty’s grip fell away.

John awoke to the feel of a hand on his, fingers rubbing circles across his skin. He blinked and reached his free hand up to rub at his eyes. A familiar head of dark hair filled his view. He tried to sit up and the hand moved to help him.

“I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective.”

John resisted his first instinct, which was to punch the Alpha in the face.

“You let me think you were just leaving me in Moriarty’s tender care. Why didn’t you tell me you were sending Lestrade?” There was no hiding the anger he felt. Neither could he conceal his wince as the wound on his lip made its presence known.

“I didn’t know how much time it would take to get everything in place. We needed Moriarty distracted for as long as possible. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure we’d get to you in time. I didn’t want to raise your hopes of rescue.” The other man hesitated before adding. “And I knew your emotional reaction would be truer if you didn’t know rescue was coming. Less chance Moriarty would grow suspicious.”

John couldn’t muster a response, shaking his head and looking away.

A hand touched his shoulder and he shrugged it off. The hand returned and John moved out of reach.

“Get off me.” he snapped, turning to glare at the Alpha.

Sherlock froze, hand in mid-air between them. “You find my touch comforting.” He pointed out.

“An involuntary biological response of an Omega to a compatible Alpha. The rest of me wants you as far away as possible.”

There was a long silence before the Sherlock spoke.

“I apologise. I never intended to cause you further discomfort. I’ll leave and let you rest. Sam is next door, she’s eager to see you. And Lestrade is downstairs should you have any further questions.”

Sherlock stood and walked to the door.

“The Red House?” John asked before he could stop himself. He needed to know.

The Alpha shook his head, something close to regret in his expression.

“We were too late. There was a miscalculation on my part. I thought my absence would delay their response if an alert went out across the network. But Moriarty’s assistant Humphrey’s was there, unbeknownst to me. They had cleared the building out before our people arrived.”

John let his eyes close, wishing he could be somewhere else, some other reality. When he opened them again, Sherlock was gone.

***

Lestrade was barking down the phone at some unfortunate subordinate when Sherlock found him. He signalled for him to hold on while he finished the conversation.

“John awake? How is he?”

“Hard to tell. He wanted me far away.” Sherlock replied, trying to hide his confusion at how much emotion John’s rejection seemed to have produced.

“Hardly surprising. Did you think leaving him in Moriarty’s tender care was going to be the way to an Omega’s heart?”

“I don’t desire his heart, or anyone else's for that matter. But I hadn’t expected him to hold a grudge. He is clearly uneasy with what happened and my touch appears to comfort him, but he won’t accept it.”

Lestrade’s expression softened. “He probably isn’t too keen on anyone’s touch right now, Sherlock. An Alpha’s even more so. He’s had a rough time of it at the hands of that bastard.”

“You’re sure Moriarty didn’t…?” Sherlock found he couldn’t quite get the words out. Too distasteful. Too… wrong. His thoughts refused to venture there.

“No. John was handcuffed and fully clothed. He’d taken a bit of a beating but that was all.”

Sherlock’s shoulders sagged. “Good. Where are you keeping Moriarty?”

Lestrade picked up a cup of coffee from his desk and took a sip, grimacing at the taste.

“We’re not. Mycroft’s got him squirreled away somewhere. Are you taking part in the interrogation?”

Sherlock paced back and forth in front of Lestrade’s desk. “Mycroft is unlikely to let me near him.”

“So what are you planning to do now?” He could tell Sherlock had something in mind, as he lacked the bored expression that so often graced his face.

“Track down where they’ve taken the occupants of the Red House.”

Lestrade paused, cup halfway to his mouth. “I thought Mycroft said they weren’t a priority.”

“They’re not. To him. And they weren’t to me today or we’d have freed them along with the rest. How many did we find?”

“We’re still getting the numbers in. We think close to a thousand in total across the eight centres. More Omegas than we expected, about one for every two women. Odd considering what information we have suggests it should be one for every six women.” Lestrade said, looking at a handful of scribbled figures on a page.

“John said Moriarty mentioned a preference for Omegas, due to the fact their biology is more amenable to manipulation.”

“That would explain it. Mycroft’s people are getting IDs and cross matching them with the databases. We’ll have a more complete picture soon.”

“Have you checked if…”

Lestrade anticipated his question.“No sign of Molly but I’m checking the lists as they come in. It would be foolish to get your hopes up, Sherlock. In all the confusion when the infection reached its peak, her death could easily have been missed. Ninety-five percent mortality. Those are poor odds.”

“I had hoped she’d be the exception. But I wouldn’t like to think of her in one of those places.” Sherlock admitted.

“Neither would I, mate.” There was a knock on the door.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock surmised.

“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Lestrade said, moving to pick up his coffee cup before thinking better of it.

***

“Sherlock. A successful day all around, wouldn’t you say.” Mycroft was smug.

He didn’t reply. His brother was too good at reading him.

But, as always, it didn’t matter. “Guilt doesn't suit you brother. I did warn you not to get attached.”

“I’m not attached.” Sherlock shot back.

“But there is an attraction there. Fascinating.”

“It’s boring. Biology. Our base emotions. Brings out the worst in people.”

“It seems to have done rather the opposite where you’re concerned. Your plan was inspired. Crack the GPS encryption and use it to find everyone they’d believed was worthy of tagging. Which seems to have been primarily fertile women and Omegas.”

“We’ve been over this. Is there a reason for this rehash or you are simply in love with your own voice?”

“I can see you are as irascible as ever. Fine. I’ll go and have a word with your Omega friend while you work out how to get back in his good graces. I assume you intend to track down the occupants of that…” Mycroft paused, the distaste clear on his face. “… _House_ in the Pavilion.”

“John has been through a lot these past few weeks.” Sherlock said pointedly.

“So meeting with me will be a gentle stroll in comparison. I’ll be careful. You have my word.”

***

John knocked on Sam’s door. When he didn’t get a reply, he poked his head in to see she was fast asleep, scrunched up in a ball under the covers. He closed the door and stood in the hallway for a moment, trying to decide whether he was feeling up to facing other people. He returned to his room instead, taking a seat on the bed.

A few minutes later there was a knock on his door. “Come in.” he called.

The door opened and an stranger stepped into the room.

“Dr. Watson. Or do you prefer Captain?” The man had an imperious air about him. Sherlock’s brother?

“John is fine.”

“John, then. Mycroft Holmes. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I understand you know my brother.”

“We’ve met.”

“You seem to have rather gotten under his skin.”

John bit back a laugh. “I doubt that. He handed me over to that psychopath without a second thought.”

“Moriarty? Hmm. Yes. Well, I should probably correct you there. Sherlock had second thoughts and third thoughts but when it came down to it there was no better plan. Nothing that didn’t involve an unacceptable risk of failure.”

Mycroft took a few more steps into the room, appearing the survey the decor. “Guilt isn’t an emotion my brother is accustomed to, Dr. Watson. I can only surmise it has something to do with other feelings you may have provoked in him. It has probably come as something of a shock to him. He’s always believed himself above all that.”

“He’s never been attracted to an Omega?” John found that hard to believe.

“Not to my knowledge. Which would suggest the two of you have more in common than you might believe.” Mycroft looked right at him and John swallowed the anger that rose inside. He’d clearly read John’s psychological reports.

“He called himself a sociopath.” John pointed out.

“Sherlock does like to exaggerate. You seem to have instilled a sense of loyalty within him. He is at this very moment making plans to locate the residents of the Red House. It’s not something that is presently high on my priority list but he seems determined. And when my brother is determined, there is very little he cannot do.”

Mycroft finished his circuit of the room, ending up back at the door. “It was lovely to make your acquaintance, Dr. Watson. If there’s anything I can do, anyone you wish to locate, I would be happy to assist. Lestrade knows how to get in contact with me. Goodbye.”

And he was gone, leaving John to his swirling thoughts.

***

Sherlock was still hanging around, which was equal parts discomfiting and annoying to the occupants of the office. Lestrade had tried to get rid of him, but he lingered like a bad smell. He’d insulted half of Lestrade’s team and was beginning to put a damper on the good mood that had resulted from their most successful operation to date.

Lestrade had given up, pouring himself another cup of coffee. He took a sip and almost choked. “Christ, who the hell made this, it’s disgusting.”

“Surely there are more important things than coffee to be concerning ourselves with.” Sherlock commented.

Lestrade resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He turned to give Sherlock a piece of his mind when he caught sight of John, standing just inside the door. The Omega had eyes only for Sherlock.

“Sherlock, I think John wants a word. You can talk in my office if you like.”

He watched them enter, the door closing behind them. There was a collective sigh of relief from the rest of the team.

“Bit of a risk.” One of them commented. “Letting them have your office. If they decide to bond in there, you’ll be weeks airing the place out.” There were quiet sniggers across the room. “Maybe they’ll name their first child after you?” Someone else suggested to louder laughter.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Lestrade replied, trying to reign in the merriment. “Back to work, people. We’ve more than enough on our plates.”

***

“I’m sorry about Mycroft.” Sherlock said as soon as the door was closed. “He is the embodiment of the British Government and takes the role somewhat too literally.”

“I did notice that.” John replied, leaning heavily against Lestrade’s desk. Sherlock, concerned, made as if to move towards him but hesitated.

“Should you be up and about?”

John waved off his concern. “A few cuts and bruises. My feet are still the worst of it, and they’re healing.”

“Still, perhaps you should sit.”

John glared pointedly at him.

“I’m sorry, I’ll… try to reign in the protective instinct I seem to have developed.” Sherlock said, not quite meeting John’s eyes.

“Mycroft told me you were going to find the prisoners from the Red House?”

“I’m going to try.”

“Good.” John replied.

“In fact, I was just about to follow up a possible lead.” Sherlock continued. “I’ll keep you informed through Lestrade.”

John didn’t reply but the expression that crossed his face was telling. Sherlock took a chance.

“Unless you’d care to join me?”

There was a long moment of silence between them.

“When do we leave?” There was no sense of hesitation in John’s reply and Sherlock nodded, pleased.


	14. Snakes and Ladders

Lestrade wasn’t happy to hear John was planning to leave with Sherlock again. John left the Alpha to deal with it as he went to say goodbye to Sam, surprised to find her with Mycroft and a woman he introduced as his assistant.

“We were just telling Samantha about the foster home we’ve found for her. A very nice couple with two younger children and a safe home in the countryside.”

“They said there’s a whole village of families. And a school, with other teenagers, even girls, like me. They don’t have to hide what they are.” She was bubbling with enthusiasm at the idea of what fourteen months previous has been the ordinary.

“You could come to. There are Omegas there. It’s a safe place.” Sam looked from John to Mycroft.

John smiled at her offer. “I’d love to. But there are some people here I need to help.”

“Perhaps, when that is done, John could come and visit you. I’m sure he’d like to see how you’re settling in.” Mycroft said.

“You’ll come and see me? Do you promise?”

“I promise.” John replied, a little bewildered about how he’d become a part of this girl’s life in so short a time. A shared curse on their heads, he supposed, that of being fertile.

Sherlock was waiting downstairs with Lestrade. The latter was none too happy about their plan.

“This time, Sherlock, do you think you could actually make an attempt to keep him safe?”

Sherlock strode out without replying and John turned to follow. “Wait, John, hold up a second.”

“If you’re going to try and talk me out of this…”

“No, I’m not. You’re almost as stubborn as he is. I just thought you should have this. I assume you know how to use it.”

He pressed a gun into John’s hands, and a small box of bullets. The weight and feel was familiar. He quickly checked it was loaded before placing it, and the ammo, in his pocket. “Thank you, Lestrade.”

“Call me Greg. And come back in one piece.”

John found Sherlock standing impatiently just outside the door.

“Armed and dangerous, I take it.”

“Nothing escapes your notice, does it?”

“Very little.”

They began to walk.

“So we’re following this lead you’ve got?”

“I’ve been trying to track down an alternative source of suppressant. I appear to have found one and it may also provide us with some information to help us find your friends.”

“What would an Alpha like you need with suppressants?”

Sherlock gave him a look that indicated John’s intellect was a clear disappointment.

“You were looking for suppressants for me.”

“You will, I assume, be in need of them. Your previous supplier can’t be trusted. Class D also have a higher risk of long term effects. The newer class E are safer.”

“And patented and incredibly expensive before the world went to hell. Getting hold of them now would be a miracle.”

“I’ve never purported to be a worker of miracles but my contact has provided solid information in the past.”

They crossed a street, stopping next to a parked car. “You know how to drive I assume?” The question was followed by a jingle of keys.

“Now you’re just insulting me.” John replied, snatching the keys from the Alpha's hand.

They drove out through the nearest checkpoint, and south. Sherlock didn’t tell John their destination, giving directions as they travelled.

“This is a very circuitous route we’re taking.” Had they gone straight from point A to B, they'd have been there in half the time.

“Avoiding the Doomers and a few other groups who wouldn’t take kindly to anyone driving through their territory. Park here. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”

They walked down a narrow lane and out into a wide street with large houses. “It’s number 16.”

“And we’re just going to walk right up to it?”

“It’s too well guarded to sneak in so we might as well take the direct route.”

So they did, climbing up the steps and ringing the doorbell.

The door swung open and a burly security guard looked them up and down.

“We’re here to see The Adder.” Sherlock announced. They were waved inside and stood in the hallway, watched by three security guards while a fourth, who appeared to be in charge, spoke quietly on a phone.

“Was this part of your plan?” John demanded in a whisper. “What the hell is this place, Sherlock?”

“It’s a brothel.” The other man replied easily. He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by their situation.

“You brought me to a brothel? You brought _an Omega_ to a brothel?”

The head guard ended the call. “They’re not on the list. Put them in the basement.”

The atmosphere in the room, already tense, only worsened. Two of the guards pulled guns from their holsters as John reached surreptitiously for his.

“Don’t, John.” Sherlock said in a quiet aside. “We need to look harmless.”

Instead, they both raised their hands, letting themselves be none too gently pushed along the hallway and down a set of stairs. There they were frisked and John’s gun was confiscated, along with a knife Sherlock had hidden on his person. Sherlock was shoved through an open door into a small room. John expected he’d be pushed in after him but instead the door was slammed closed and the bolt slid home.

“Now that the Alpha is contained, let’s see what we have here.”

“Get off me.” John growled as two of the guards made a grab for him. He aimed a punch at one and found his mark, but a split second later it was three on one and he was pinned to the wall. The guard he’d punched slapped him with an open hand. When he pulled back to slap him again, the other guard stopped him. “Don’t want to bruise up the merchandise too badly. He smells ripe, fertile. And it looks like he’s already been worked over.”

The guard caught John’s chin in a firm grip, turning his head this way and that, before letting his hands drop lower, untucking John’s shirt. “Let’s see what we have here. He’s a little old, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be bred. They’re paying good money for that. But the question is, how do we get him out of here?”

“You don’t.” A voice answered shortly. “Put him in with the other and come upstairs.”

John looked up to see the fourth guard standing at the bottom of the stairs. There was another guard flanking him.

“The Adder will not be pleased when I tell them about this incident. It isn’t the first. You should know better by now.”

“We were just looking.” one of them replied.

“And now you’ve had a gawp, put him in with the Alpha and get back to your posts.”

The bolt was pulled back, the door opened, and John was shoved hard into the room, hitting the floor with a smack. He heard the door clang shut behind him and the reverberation as the bolt slid home again.

“John, are you alright?” Sherlock was kneeling by his side, hands reaching for him.

“Don’t.” He said, shifting out of reach.

“John, you’re bleeding.”

“What was your plan?” John asked quietly, wiping the back of his hand across his lip which had split open again, leaving a smear of blood across his skin. “Offer to sell me in return for information?”

“No, of course not. We’re here to source suppressants and it seemed like a place that might have information that would be relevant to finding your friends.”

“And you didn’t think bringing a fertile Omega to a place such as this might be risky? In case you hadn’t noticed, fertile Omegas are kind of valuable these days.”

“Not to this establishment. They are a more particular operation.”

“Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try and sell me on.” John replied.

“You have the means to protect yourself and you’re skilled at doing so. I had no intention of putting you in any more danger than I put myself.”

“Funny you should say that, I seem to be the one who takes the brunt of whatever happens when you decide to take a risk.” John was tired, feet aching. He tried to stand and managed a few steps before he let himself sink to the floor, putting his back against the wall.

“John, I…” Sherlock reached a hand towards him again and John shied away. “Please, John. You’re distressed. Let me help.”

When he reached for him a third time, John sighed but stayed put, permitting the touch. Sherlock’s hand unconsciously mirrored the guard outside, gripping John’s chin with gentle fingers.

John let his eyes close as Sherlock’s hand caressed his cheek, the Alpha's scent surrounding him. His breathing slowed and the tension slowly leaked from his body.

“I promise you John, I didn’t bring you here only to place you in harm’s way. I was led to understand that this wasn’t that type of establishment.”

John opened his eyes to find Sherlock’s face only inches from his. He had the sudden urge to close the gap between them, bring their lips together and taste the Alpha whose scent was so very enticing.

“He’s telling the truth you know. We are a _very_ particular establishment.”

Both he and Sherlock jumped, turning to see that, while they were distracted, the door had opened. In the doorway stood a woman, wearing a tight dress, high heels and dark red lipstick.

“Sherlock Holmes. I had hoped our paths would cross one day.”

Sherlock stood slowly and moved in front of John as if to shield him.

“And you are?”

The woman laughed. “ _You_ asked to see _me_.”

“You’re The Adder?”

“Not what you expected? I’d love to have seen your face if I’d come dressed for battle.” She smiled again, seeming genuinely amused. “Irene Adler, at your service. Perhaps we could move this conversation to more comfortable surroundings, and get your Omega patched up.”

“John is it?” She turned her attention to him and her expression softened. “I apologise for what happened. I do my best to screen our staff but background checks have become less and less reliable. People are desperate and greedy. It makes for a poor combination.”

Sherlock helped John to his feet and, with one hand in the small of John’s back, guided him towards the door.

They followed the enigmatic woman up two flights of stairs and into a sitting room, resplendent with comfortable settees and a large fireplace.

“Some tea or coffee perhaps? To make the occasion that little more civilised.” She sent a quick text from her phone as she spoke, gesturing for Sherlock and John to take a seat. They did, Sherlock sitting close to, but not quite touching, the Omega.

“You’re The Adder?” Sherlock repeated doubtfully. “All my information suggested a man in his forties.”

“Oh, you mean Duncan. He is the face behind the name. I’m the brain behind the face. As you may have noticed, being a woman isn’t the safest occupation on the planet these days.”

The door opened and a woman came in bearing a tray with a teapot, carafe of coffee, china cups and a plate of biscuits. She also brought a first aid kit.

“Tea, coffee?” Irene offered as Sherlock opened the kit and handed John a disinfectant wipe.

“John will have tea, and a chocolate digestive.” Sherlock answered for him. John shot him a bemused look as he pressed a piece of gauze to his lip. Miss Adler set a cup of tea and biscuit on the table in front of him.

“I could add a drop of whiskey if you’d like?” Miss Adler offered.

“No, thank you.” John replied.

“So what brings you to visit my establishment? It must be something important, we move frequently and aren’t that easy to find.”

“John needs suppressants. High grade, not that backroom stuff cooked up by idiots. And we are looking for information about the group of women and Omegas moved from the Red House at the Pavilion.”

“What makes you think I can help with either of those?”

“My sources tell me you are part of the underground network that helps relocate women and Omega to safety. And that you supply suppressants. You would seem to be _the_ person in a position to help.”

“And yet you didn’t know I was a woman?”

There was an awkward pause. “You did know. Or you suspected.”

“I knew of your reputation before the pandemic. You were a likely contender. Not many people could marry running a brothel with care and compassion for those usually most exploited by the business.”

She seemed satisfied with the answer, nodding her head slowly. “I’ve heard a lot about you too, but from a more personal perspective.”

That seemed to unsettle the Alpha and he placed a protective hand on John’s shoulder.

“I can definitely assist you with the suppressants, John. Your second request will require some time. I’m aware of the raid on the Pavilion but haven’t heard any talk of additional merchandise entering the market.”

John let his shoulders slump, surprised when Sherlock’s hand squeezed gently. “We will find them, John. They’re too valuable for any permanent harm to come to them.” He turned back to Miss Adler. “There’s a man named Humphreys. In his sixties, silver hair.”

“I haven’t heard that name before but I’ll make inquiries. For now, let’s get your sorted with a supply of suppressants. It’s growing late, I’m sure you want to be back in a safe area before dark.”

“I have a number of things I can offer in trade.” Sherlock said.

She shook her head. “No, this first batch is free. Consider it an apology for the behaviour of my guards.”

“How do we know the suppressant is what you’re saying it is?” John found his voice at last. If it was Class E suppressants then they were valuable enough to make giving them away a costly mistake.

“Perhaps you’d like to meet my chemist?” There was a mischievous twinkle in Miss Adler’s eye as she spoke. John and Sherlock shared a look before cautiously agreeing.

“Come then. The lab is on the top floor.”

They followed her up more flights of stairs, John getting distracted by noises and voices. “You said you were a particular establishment. What does that mean exactly?”

“Aside from security, my employees are all women. And we specialise in domination.”

“Oh.” was all John could muster in reply.

They reached the top floor and Irene knocked on a closed door. “It’s me. Is it safe? You have some visitors.”

“Come in.” A muffled voice called.

Irene opened the door and led the way, John following her and Sherlock behind him.

The room was crowded with lab benches and smelled strongly of chemicals. In the far corner was a figure in a white coat, a pair of goggles covering their eyes. They turned to look at them, hands holding a container of solution and a pipette. On catching sight of them, the container dropped to the bench with a clink.  They pulled off the goggles.

It was a woman, John realised, pale and gaunt looking with mousy brown hair. She eyed him curiously then looked past him to where Sherlock stood, turning paler still. “Sherlock?” she gasped.

“Molly?” John turned back in time to catch the look of shock on the Alpha's face.


	15. Wounds

John looked from Sherlock to the woman and back. The Alpha was standing stock still, not taking his eyes from her.

“You’re alive.” He managed after a long pause.

“So are you. I mean, I knew that already, Irene told me. I thought with all your deductive power you’d have found me months ago. Not that I’m saying you should have. I know I'm not all the high up on your list of people you'd have been looking for.” Molly seemed embarrassed by her words, looking down at her gloves, and slowly pulling them from her hands.

To John’s surprise, Molly’s words actually seemed to hit home with the Alpha. “We _were_ looking, _I_ was looking. I’m… sorry.”

“Don’t be silly, Sherlock. It was the end of the world. It’s not your fault you couldn’t find one insignificant person among the millions dead and dying.”

She stood slowly, using a hand to brace herself on the bench. As she got to her feet, her lab coat parted, revealing the swell of her stomach beneath it.

John turned to see Sherlock’s response.

“You… you’re… How? A breeding centre?” the Alpha asked.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just the traditional way. Too much alcohol and too little care.” She looked down, embarrassed.

“But you’re pasty. Pale. There should be a glow.” The Alpha turned to John, looking perplexed. “Isn’t that a thing? Shouldn’t there be a glow?”

“Shut _up,_ Sherlock.” John said, though it didn’t come out as harshly as he’d intended.

“Is he always such insufferable git?” He asked Molly. Her cheeks had flushed at Sherlock’s words but it only highlighted how unnaturally hollowed her cheeks were, how frail she seemed.

“He’s said worse to me. He’s always had an unkind streak. Though I don't even think he notices most of the time.” She replied with a sigh and the slightest of smiles, as she moved across the room towards them. “I haven’t been all that well. First the virus and then…”

“Some kind of post-viral syndrome. At least, that’s what the last doctor we brought in believed.” Irene interjected.

“I can’t seem to absorb enough of the nutrients I need. It’s exhausting.” She wavered a little on her feet and John stepped forward, catching her arm and supporting her. “Here, sit down.” He guided her into another chair, noting how Sherlock backed away as they neared. Molly sank into the seat, exhaling slowly.

“I’m John, by the way. How far along are you Molly?”

“Seven months.” She gave him a wan smile.

“The doctor saw her at four months. He wasn’t optimistic.”

“Said I should get rid of it. That we wouldn’t both survive the pregnancy. He thought I was too weak.”

“Molly Hooper, weak?” Sherlock said. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

That set a more genuine smile upon her face, her eyes lit up and she sat up a little straighter.

“The baby’s father?” John asked.

“You remember Conor, don’t you Sherlock? The biochemist I was dating.” Sherlock looked blankly back at her.

“You met him _three_ times. He was obsessed with conspiracy theories, you kept tearing them to pieces. He spilt coffee on you. Twice. You called him a moronic imbecile.”

Sherlock looked none the wiser. “I must have deleted it. The memory.” He clarified when John frowned at him.

“You can delete your own memories?”

“Just the boring, irrelevant stuff.”

“ _Sherlock._ ” John said again, indicating Molly. “Oh, of course” The Alpha said.

“So Conor is the baby's father?” John continued.

“Yes.” Molly nodded. “We’d only been dating six months when the pandemic began. He was a biochemist but there was stuff on the conspiracy forums long before the virus really started to make the news. So he began reading up on all this survivalist stuff. Got supplies, found a place for us to lay low until the worst of it passed. He even managed to get hold of one of the prototype vaccines.”

Vaccine? John had heard rumours but he thought they'd been just that.

“How?” Sherlock queried.

“His brother was in the army. They were test subjects for the vaccines. He managed to get hold of a few extra doses. Enough for Con, me and a few other family members. He saved our lives.”

“But you still got the virus.” Sherlock pointed out.

“Yes, but I produced a more effective immune response that I would have. So I lived. Con had enough supplies to keep us going for a few months. He started to venture out again after I started to get sick and we figured out about the pregnancy. He was going to find a pharmacy one day and he just didn’t come back. So I went out after him. And I found him.”

She looked down, tears gathering in her eyes. “He’d been clubbed over the head a few times. They’d just left him lying on the road. I was kneeling beside him and someone grabbed me from behind and put a bag over my head.”

“It was lucky that she was picked up by amateurs and not people like the Genesis Institute. A contact in the underground managed to convince them to hand her over and passed her on to us for safe keeping.”

“They took me in, kept me safe. And when I needed a distraction, found me some work to do.” Molly had managed to gather herself, holding back her tears.

“When was the last time a doctor checked you over?” John asked Molly. It was Irene who answered. “We’re having some trouble sourcing reliable ones. The last one we brought in sold us out to someone else. We only just got everyone out in time.”

“Moriarty?” Sherlock asked.

“Maybe. They were fast and they were organised.”

“Molly, I’d like to get a hold of a few supplies and come back and check you over.” John said.

“John is a doctor.” Sherlock added by way of explanation.

“And an Omega?” Molly asked in surprise.

“When they relaxed the rules for a bit, I was one of the lucky ones who slipped through.”

“I have a handheld doppler to listen to the heartbeat and I’ve been checking my sugars and blood pressure.”

“Are you gaining weight?”

“I’m trying. It’s hard.”

John shared a concerned look with Sherlock.

“We’ll talk to Mycroft.” The Alpha said.

“I hate to break up this lovely reunion but it’s getting late. It would be safer for all of us if you returned home. Molly, John is in need of some suppressants.”

Molly seemed surprised. She lowered her voice as she spoke to John. “You and Sherlock aren’t…”

“We haven’t known each other very long. I was captured too and Sherlock helped free me. Since then, he’s thrown me right back into danger, repeatedly.”

She laughed. “That sounds like Sherlock. Hold on, I’ll get you those suppressants.”

She handed John a bubble-wrapped package. “Take them weekly. They start working within 24 hours and wear off after nine days. They’re modelled on the class E suppressants. I’m working on a longer-lasting formula but pharmaceutical chemistry was never really my strong suit.”

“John, Miss Adler, could Molly and I have a moment alone.” Sherlock requested.

The two stood outside the door while Sherlock and Molly talked.

“Did they ever… have a thing?” John asked inelegantly.

Irene smiled. “Only in her dreams. She was somewhat besotted and devoted. He, on the other hand…”

“Didn’t even notice.” John guessed.

***

Sherlock took a seat next to Molly trying to hide his discomfort.

“I’ve spent the past few months searching for women and Omega. And it was foolish and stupid, but every time there was a lead to follow, I hoped it would be you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Molly replied. “I mean, not just you. My mum. Conor. My friends. The people at work. My crazy neighbour with all the cats. I miss them all so much. And then you just turn up, out of the blue.”

And there were tears trailing down her face.

“I thought you were happy to see me.” Sherlock couldn't hide his bewilderment.

“I am.” She sobbed. “So happy.”

“But you’re crying. Crying usually means sadness.”

“It’s silly, I know, but seeing you, after all this time, reminds me of everyone else I’ll never see again. A happy sad, you know.”

“Happy sad.” he parroted back with a frown. “I see.”

“Oh.” She looked up again, eyes wide then grabbed his hand, pressing it to her stomach.

“Do you feel that?”

“I don’t feel anything.” He insisted as he tried to extract his hand. For such a frail looking thing she had a vice-like grip.

“Wait. There.”

And he felt it. A little thump-thump against his palm.

“He’s kicking?”

“Might grow up to be a footballer.”

“Research suggests people tend to follow the paths of their parents. This tendency can be stronger in the case of a deceased parent. Which would suggest he or she will become a scientist.” Sherlock said.

Molly smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“You should go.”

“Come with us.”

“I’ll only slow you down.” She shrugged helplessly.

“We can ensure you’re safe.”

“Irene will keep me safe. She’s been doing that for months now. And I have work to keep me occupied.”

“We’ll come back.”

“I know. You’ll need more suppressant.”

“It’s not just that. You know it’s not.”

“I know. Thank you, Sherlock. It is good to have you. To have you back, I mean.”

“Goodbye, Molly.”

***

Sherlock walked out of the lab, past John and Irene, and down the stairs. “Come along, John. We must get back. Thank you for your gracious hospitality Miss Adler.”

John hurried to catch up with the Alpha. When they reached the hall, the guards stopped them again. “Return whatever they came with and let them leave.” Irene instructed. John got his gun and bullets returned, Sherlock his knife.

As they clambered down the steps, John noticed it was growing dark.

“Don’t dawdle, John.” Sherlock snapped. “We are fast losing daylight.”

“What did she say to you?” John asked as they crossed the street and entered the lane they’d traversed to get there from their car.

“Who?”

“Molly, of course. You seem upset.”

“I’m fine.”

“Even though you’ve just seen a colleague you thought was dead. Who’s now ill and pregnant?”

“It’s a new world, John. We must learn to embrace it.”

John was about to retort when a loud whistle echoed through the laneway.

“What do we have here? Tourists? Stragglers?”

Two men stepped out of the shadows further down the lane.

“Pretty boy Alpha and a little Omega. This might be our lucky day. What do you say Anto?”

“I say we've hit the jackpot.” A voice said from behind them.

John took in the scene. Three on two. Not bad odds, though the men looked to have a bit of weight on them. He looked to Sherlock for some direction. What was going through that head of his?

“John. What I said before. About appearing harmless? Let’s assume it does not apply to this situation. I’ll follow your lead.”

“Fine. Get your knife out. We’ll stand back to back. Gun should be enough to scare them off.”

They moved simultaneously, John drawing his gun, Sherlock his knife.

“Back off, or I will shoot you.”

To John’s chagrin, the men began to laugh. “An Omega with a gun. Have you ever seen the like Harvey?”

They called his bluff and rushed them. John’s first shot caught one man in the shoulder. The second man tackled him to the ground and they grappled for the gun. He could hear Sherlock brawling with the third man.

The other man had more than a few pounds on John but John had the training and the moves. He forced the other man to the ground, lifted the gun and clocked him over the head with it. The assailant flopped to the ground, unconscious.

He turned just in time to see Sherlock slam the third man head first into the wall and he too slumped to the ground.

John got to his feet as Sherlock turned. “We need to get back to the car, _now_.”

“No arguments from me.” John replied. They took off at a jog, Sherlock lagging behind.

John got into the driver’s seat, waiting for Sherlock to follow him into the car.

He sensed something was wrong as Sherlock lowered himself into the seat next to him.

“Drive, John.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. We need to get out of here. Those men likely have friends.”

John put the car into gear and took off. “Which way?”

Sherlock began to give directions. They went over a bump and the Alpha gasped. John looked over at him, taking in his pale skin, the fact that he was sweating and that his eyes were closed.

He braked and reached a hand to turn the light above them on.

“You’re hurt.”

“Keep driving. It’s just a scratch.”

“Let me see.” He reached over to where Sherlock’s hand was clamped tightly to his side. The Alpha tried to bat his hand away, but John was determined. As he pushed Sherlock’s hand out of the way, he saw the blood coating it. He lifted the Alpha’s shirt. “You’ve been stabbed!”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Sherlock replied through gritted teeth.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

“Escaping seemed our top priority.”

“You’re a bloody infuriating idiot, you know that?”

“I know John, believe me, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading along and for all the kudos and comments. Updates will be every three days instead of two for the next while.


	16. Proximity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments, they're great encouragement!

John pulled off his jacket and tossed it towards Sherlock. “Keep pressure on that wound.”

He took off again, driving fast. Sherlock continued to give directions.

“It’d be a lot quicker if we took the direct route.”

“And more dangerous. Better not to take the chance.”

As they got closer to their destination, the Alpha got quieter.

“Keep talking, Sherlock.”

“What would you like to hear most? About your service in Afghanistan, your drunk of a brother, your difficulties with your parents. Your father never did get over having an Omega for a son, did he? Despite everything you did to make him proud.”

They finally reached the checkpoint at the barrier, John pulling the ID Lestrade had given him from his pocket. Sherlock fished his out as well with a roll of his eyes.

The guards scrutinised them carefully, shining torches into the back of the car before waving them through.

There was a small group waiting for them when they pulled up outside Scotland Yard, Lestrade among them.

“How did they…” John started to ask.

“I sent Lestrade a text.”

Sherlock was helped out of the car and inside, John following on their heels.

They were brought into a room kitted out as an infirmary. There one of the group tried to examine Sherlock’s wound. The Alpha batted his hand away.

“I’m a doctor.” The man protested.

“What specialty?” Sherlock demanded.

“Dermatology.”

“Dr. Watson, your assistance is required.” Sherlock called loudly. John was already donning gloves.

“Military doctor. As used to seeing stab wounds as you are warts.” Sherlock bit out. “Now if you wouldn’t mind getting out of the way.”

The other man, who had appeared ready to argue, wisely stepped back instead.

“I need sterile scissors, antiseptic, lignocaine, gauze and a suture kit.” John said. "And can you get an IV line going." The dermatologist found what John had requested with the confidence of someone who knew their own infirmary.

“Just the one wound?” John asked Sherlock, using the scissors to neatly cut off his shirt.

“One is more than enough to be getting on with.” Sherlock replied, shifting uncomfortably as the blood stained material was peeled away.

John surveyed the injury. It was low on the abdomen, just above the Alpha’s hip bone. It was still bleeding but not profusely. He palpated gently around the wound.

"A _dermatologist_?" Sherlock hissed at Lestrade. "You know we're short on doctors. He's really quite good Sherlock." Lestrade replied. "Does this _look_ like a case of eczema?" Sherlock retorted. They were interrupted by John

“Well, there’s good news. The knife penetrated quite shallowly into a fairly safe area, just scraped past the spine of your iliac bone. No major blood vessels in the way, no essential organs. The trajectory of the knife was downwards, into your iliopsoas muscle.”

“What’s the bad news?” Lestrade asked.

“His attitude is incurable I’m afraid.”

Sherlock bristled at the joke but Lestrade laughed.

“I take it, given the general merriment at my expense, that I’ll live?”

“Stitches, a few days rest and you’ll be good as new.”

“Then patch me up. I'll recuperate at home.”

“A few days rest in a well stocked infirmary, not in that health hazard of an apartment.” John grumbled as he sterilised the wound, before injecting local anaesthetic and getting started on the suturing.

***

Nothing John or Lestrade said could convince Sherlock to stay in Scotland Yard.

“Fine. Let’s go then.” John said eventually. “It’d be nice to get some sleep before the sun comes up.”

Sherlock looked up, surprised. “You want to come with me?”

“Right now you’re my patient. If you’re insisting on leaving then I guess I’m going too. And we’re still no closer to locating my friends from the Red House. The sooner you’re up and about the sooner we can get back to it.”

“I’ll have two of my people escort you back.” Lestrade offered.

***

The house was dark. “Mrs. Hudson is still staying with a friend. I’ll send word tomorrow for her to return.”

“Let’s get you to bed.” John replied, bracing Sherlock’s arm around his shoulders as they climbed the stairs.

There was a brief war of wills as John tried to convince Sherlock to take something for the pain. He capitulated eventually and John left him to get some sleep.

He came to check on him an hour later and, finding him asleep, took a seat on the edge of the bed. The Alpha was pale and still, the rise and fall of his chest and the soft breathing sounds the only sign of life.

Minutes ticked by but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the Alpha’s bedside. There was something reassuring about each breath the Alpha took. Gradually, his eyelids began to droop...

Moriarty’s hands were on him. Touching him, pulling him. And he couldn’t move. Couldn’t make a sound. Bound and gagged, his feet like blocks of lead. The Alpha trailed fingers along his body and John’s breathing sped up, panting through the material stuffed into his mouth. No no no no no…

“John? John, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

The clear voice cut through his dream like a knife, severing the connection to his unconscious. He gasped and sat up, looking around wildly. A hand touched his arm and he slapped it away, struggling to get his feet under him, get away from the danger.

“John, it’s me, it’s Sherlock. You were dreaming.”

His eyes adjusted to the dark and he could just make out Sherlock’s pale face, one arm stretched towards him. “It’s alright now, John. You’re safe, Moriarty isn’t here. He’s locked away, he can’t hurt you.”

“I… sorry. I didn’t mean… I must have fallen asleep.”

He rubbed a shaking hand across his face, trying to slow his racing heart. Minutes ticked past.

“How did you know I was dreaming about Moriarty?”

The Alpha turned his head to the side, considering him for a moment before replying. “You seemed distressed, you were saying no in your sleep. It was an educated guess. I imagine he gave you many reasons to say no to him.”

John couldn’t stop the words that tumbled from his mouth. “I can still feel him, his hands on me, his voice, the wrongness. He’d tried to force a bond on someone, before. He knew he couldn’t bond but he still had that need to possess someone, to break them and…”

“And he’d decided that someone was to be you.” The Alpha concluded.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway. How are you feeling?” John dismissed his outburst with a wave of his hand and tried to focus on the man in front of him.

“There’s some pain but not enough to prevent me from sleeping.”

“Right. Sorry I woke you. I’ll leave you in peace.” John started to stand.

“Perhaps you could stay and keep me company?”

“You need _rest_ , Sherlock.”

“As do you.”

“ _I’m_ not the one with the stab wound. And you certainly don’t need to be woken by my nightmares.”

“John, over the past few weeks you’ve been abducted twice, not to mention threatened and assaulted on an almost daily basis. On balance, I suspect you’re the one most in need of rest. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you not sleep alone out on the sofa. If you were to have another nightmare I might feel obliged to wake you again and, what with being recently stabbed and everything, it would be easier if you were an arm's length away rather than down the corridor.”

“I could just shut the door. Or maybe you have earplugs.”

In response the Alpha merely shifted carefully to the other side of the bed and glared at him pointedly. Sighing, John moved to lie his head against the pillow, stretching his body out along the length of the bed.

He lay awake for a while, acutely conscious of the Alpha lying next to him. Birdsong heralding the arrival of dawn was a welcome distraction.

“Can’t sleep?” Sherlock asked suddenly, turning to lie on his side next to him.

John didn’t reply.

“It might be easier if you closed your eyes.” The other man pointed out. “Here, let me help.”

He reached out a hand, pausing when John tensed involuntarily. The Omega forced himself to exhale as Sherlock’s hand crept closer. It was the lightest of touches, fingertips just brushing across his forehead.

“Shhh, relax. Focus on the feeling of my hand against your skin.”

The tension slowly ebbed away as Sherlock’s fingers traced lazy circles across his temples, the Alpha’s scent a soothing balm that chased away the lingering acrid smell of Moriarty. His eyes closed of their own accord, his last conscious thought of the Alpha next to him.

When he awoke he was lying on his side, an arm slung across him and a warm body pressed close to his back. There was a momentary panic as his brain tried to piece together the scrambled information from his senses. Bed, Alpha, touching. They all added up to one word. Sherlock. And the panic extinguished.

“Interesting.” A voice commented from behind him. “You smell rather enticing. Like cinnamon and apple with a hint of gunpowder. It’s wrong really when you think about it. The suggestion that you’re a foodstuff. Though cinnamon has some medicinal properties.”

The Alpha shifted closer and suddenly his nose was pressed to the nape of John’s neck, inhaling deeply.

“What are you doing?” John asked, unable to suppress his alarm at the Alpha’s sudden proximity.

“I’ve never found an Omega particularly attractive before. I don’t mean aesthetically. I’ve seen plenty of good-looking Omega but never in the traditional Alpha-Omega sense all the books talk about. All the senses homing in on one person, the sense of rightness of their scent, their skin. It’s intriguing. And worthy of further exploration.”

“I’m not a bloody science experiment.” John started to say but cut off abruptly with a strangled sound when Sherlock’s tongue licked the sensitive bundle of nerves at the back of his neck. He shuddered.

“Sherlock?” It was half question, half protest. The Alpha paused, mouth very close to John’s ear.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

It was different. He’d had brief flings with Alphas before, knew that the back of the neck was an erogenous zone for Omegas but the sensations he’d felt before had never been that intense.

“Would you like me to try that again?”

Despite himself, John’s reply was a whispered “yes.”

This time Sherlock’s approach was a little different. He kissed where John’s neck met his back, a gentle press of soft lips, then moved upwards, kissing a trail along the top of his spine. He reached a particularly sensitive spot and John couldn’t suppress a moan. Sherlock hummed against him, the vibration spreading across his skin. Then the Alpha licked and sucked on that point, drawing another moan from John. Heat began to spread through him, a gloriously intense feeling of warmth and tingling.

John was breathing hard when Sherlock pulled away. He rolled over to face the Alpha.

“A successful experiment don’t you think?” Sherlock asked.

“Why, how did it feel for you?” John wondered, noting the Alpha’s face was flushed. Sherlock’s smile told him all he needed to know.

“I hear during a heat the pleasure is heightened even further. A wonderful experience I’d imagine if not for the potential consequences.”

“You mean bonding?”

“I was thinking more accidental pregnancy.”

John shuddered at the thought. If he was still in Moriarty’s hands, he’d be facing a very deliberate pregnancy.

“Did you ever have the urge to?” Sherlock asked.

“What, get pregnant?”

“Bond?”

John considered the question for a moment before replying, shifting his arm behind his head. “Well, when I was younger I thought it would just happen. That’s what everyone kept saying. One day there’d be an Alpha, you would click and you’d be inseparable. Only every Alpha I’ve ever met I could take or leave. Then I got older and wondered what the point was? I'd qualified as a doctor, served overseas in the military and would still expected to stand one step behind some arrogant Alpha just because of some stupid biological imperative to bond.” He snorted and looked away.

“My experience was a little different." Sherlock began, drawing John's attention back to him. "It’s true I’ve never felt a particular attraction to Omegas but it's not something I've put a lot of effort into. Bonding has never been something I’ve sought. I never wanted to be saddled with the care of another human being whose been trained from birth to think they can’t take care of themselves.”

“We’re not all like that.” John protested.

“You readily admit you’re an exception to the rule. Doctor. Military. Those aren’t descriptions you’d commonly find attached to an Omega.”

“Well, it’s like you said. I spent most of my life trying to prove my father wrong.” John couldn’t hide the bitterness from his voice.

“And I my brother.” Sherlock admitted. “He thinks bonding would ground me. Force me to take some responsibility for once. I don’t suspect you were the kind of Omega he had in mind. You’re nothing like the ones he introduced me to in the past. He went through a phase of bringing them to dinner. Half the time I wouldn’t show up and he’d take it as a personal insult. Though I think it was worse when I did. They used to leave in tears. Sensitive souls, Omegas.” Sherlock finished, oblivious to John's glare.

“Molly wasn't quite right, was she? You're not deliberately unkind so much as tactless with an acerbic tongue.”

“You weren’t complaining about my tongue a few minutes ago.” Sherlock pointed out with indignation. They looked at one another for a moment before they burst into laughter. Sherlock’s cut off abruptly, his hand going to his side as a pained grimace crossed his face.

“What kind of a doctor are you?” He complained grumpily. “Making your patient with the stab wound laugh.”

"What kind of consulting detective are _you_?" John threw back. At Sherlock's frown, he added. "I think you'll find I don't have a drunk of a brother. Alcoholic sister, though. I certainly had one of those." His smile was bittersweet and the glare Sherlock had been aiming at him softened.


	17. Machinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've injured my wrist so typing is a literal pain. Next chapter might be a bit delayed and proofreading on this chapter a little haphazard.

Sherlock’s phone buzzed, interrupting their conversation.

“Mycroft, of course. He’s always had impeccable timing.”

He answered it, listening carefully.

“When?” Sitting up straighter, he threw a look at John that had the Omega listening carefully.

“How did he manage it? No, let me guess. Someone on the inside.” There was a pause before he rolled his eyes. “Fine.” and ended the call, turning to the Omega.

“John, there’s been a complication.”

His tone was enough for John to guess the subject and he felt himself turn pale. “Moriarty?”

“Escaped. With help.” came the abrupt reply

“When?”

“A few hours ago.”

John slid to the edge of the bed and stood, grabbing his gun from the bedside locker. “I can’t stay here. It’s the first place he’ll look.”

Sherlock crossed the bed towards him, wincing when the abrupt movement aggravated his injury. “John, slow down, please. We need to talk about this.”

“There isn’t time. He’ll be coming for me.” He reached for his shoes, tugging them on his feet.

“Yes, he will. But not yet. He hasn’t reactivated the GPS chips. Mycroft has been monitoring them.”

“He doesn’t need a chip to find me. He knows I’ll be with you and he knows you live here.”

“Yes, but this time things are different. Mycroft has people watching the house already and is sending more people to us, including Lestrade.”

“It would make more sense for us to go to Scotland Yard. Safer, better protected.” John pointed out.

He caught the slightest of hesitations in the Alpha's expression.

“What aren’t you telling me? Damn it Sherlock, after that stunt you pulled the last time, you can’t really expect me to wait here knowing Jim Moriarty is on the loose again.”

The Alpha took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Mycroft left your chip in-situ deliberately. The chips have a failsafe system that deactivates them permanently when you remove them. They took them out of the other people they rescued but he didn’t remove yours so we’d know if someone brought the system back online.”

But that didn’t make sense to John. Of all the people that had been rescued, John was the least secure, gallivanting around London with a crazy, risk-taking Alpha. Mycroft knew that.

“That’s not the only reason, it is?” He challenged the Alpha. "I want the truth Sherlock, all of it this time."

“Mycroft has long suspected that Moriarty has one or more people leaking information to him from within what’s left of the government. He thought there was a reasonable chance that they’d help extract Moriarty so he was extremely careful about who he shared the information with to try and lure them out and he left you in place as bait in case Moriarty was freed.”

John stared at him in shock before coming to his senses and focusing on getting his second shoe laced.

“God, you’re both bastards, you know that? I’ve been so stupid trusting you. Lestrade tried to warn me.”

“John, even Greg Lestrade can’t keep you safe. Moriarty got out of what was the closest thing we have to a maximum security prison. Scotland Yard was never going to protect you.” Sherlock stood, moving between John and the door.

“Well I know how to hide. I’ve stayed off the radar for fourteen months. I can do it again. But I need you to take the chip out.” John squared up to the Alpha but Sherlock was shaking his head slowly.

“No John, it’s too late for that. Moriarty knows who you are. Nowhere in this city will be safe for you.”

But John didn't believe that, couldn't. He wasn't the type to give in to despair or hopelessness.

“Please Sherlock, I’m asking you, one human being to another. Take this chip out. Give me a fighting chance. Please.”

John’s heart was thumping, adrenaline surging. He waited, barely taking a breath, to hear the Alpha's response.

“John, think it through. You’re not defenceless. You have your gun. And you’re not alone. There’s me. In a few minutes Greg and his team will be here and Mycroft already has people in place, with more on the way. Moriarty isn’t going to get near you.”

“He got himself out of a maximum security prison. Seems a bit like wishful thinking to assume he won’t get me out of this flat.”

Sherlock reached for him and John stepped back. He didn’t want to be soothed, calmed. He needed anger, needed adrenaline. That would keep him going, keep him fighting.

“John, please. You’re the first compatible Omega I have ever met. The first Omega I could tolerate for more than a few minutes at a time. Do you think I’d be so cavalier as to jeopardise you now?”

“You did already.”

“When it was a clear case of the many for the few. That no longer stands. Please John.” He took a step forward again.

“If Moriarty gets his hands on me again... Sherlock he’ll _know_. Know I was there to distract him while you tore his empire down around him. He won’t just want to break me. He’ll want _revenge_.”

“He won’t get it. Mycroft has given new orders. Shoot on sight. Moriarty is more dangerous than he is useful.”

“How do I know you’re not just saying that?” John asked, running one hand across his forehead and dropping his gaze to the floor.

“John, look at me.” Sighing, the Omega looked up, finding himself caught in the Alpha’s intense eyes. Sherlock took another step forward, reaching out one hand to cup John’s jaw, running his thumb soothingly along his cheek.

“It’s going to be okay. Trust me.” Part of John’s brain thought it was the worst idea in the world right that second, trusting a man who threw himself and others headlong into danger on a regular basis. But there was another part of him, that part that had found the last few days some of the most exhilarating he'd had in years, that was telling him to heed the Alpha’s words.

“Fine. Have it your way. For now. But I still want that chip out.”

“I’ll talk to Mycroft.” Sherlock assured him.

***

Lestrade arrived to find them sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea. John’s gun was lying next to his cup, seeming oddly out of place at breakfast.

“Did you know about Mycroft’s plan?” The DI demanded of Sherlock.

“I knew he had something up his sleeve. What with placing a tracker on my car and having people watching the flat.”

“But you didn’t know he was expecting Moriarty to walk?” Lestrade pressed.

“No.” Sherlock replied, an expression of fury crossing his face for only a split second. “He didn’t deem it important enough to share that information until _after_ the fact.”

“John, how are you holding up?".

“I’m becoming more and more grateful you gave me this.” John replied, indicating the gun. “Have had cause to use it once already. But it’s fully loaded should Moriarty or his people come knocking.”

“Good. That’s the spirit. We’ve got people in the house across the way. Mycroft’s people are out on the street and either side. He’s going to place two more down in Mrs. Hudson’s rooms. We’ve checked on her, she’s fine, staying put.”

“All the pieces in play. Mycroft holding our strings.” Sherlock remarked, ignoring the rapidly cooling tea sitting in front of him. He seemed distracted and it was clear the cogwheels of his brain were turning rapidly.

“Moriarty’s too smart to walk into a trap.” He said after a moment. “Mycroft knows this. And with all the people around, you’d hardly mistake this for anything else.”

“So you don’t think he’ll come after John?”

“On the contrary, I’m certain he will. It’s a question of how.”

Lestrade refused a cup of tea and went to join his team. The morning passed slowly, John reading, Sherlock playing the violin incessantly for nearly an hour.

“At least we won’t hear Moriarty coming.” John remarked when he paused.

“He’s not coming John.” Sherlock replied, but the thought didn’t seem to cheer the Alpha. If anything, as the day wore on and nothing happened, his expression got darker. He took to pacing from the kitchen to the living room and back. As if waiting for something. But apparently not Moriarty.

"Sherlock, you'll pull your stitches." he warned, but to no avail, the Alpha seemingly immune to reason and pain.

The ringing of his phone jerked Sherlock to a stop midway between kitchen and living room. He took it from his pocket and glanced at the screen, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. He moved towards John as he answered deliberately placing the call on speaker and holding it between them.

“Hello.” He said.

“Sherlock?” A quiet voice asked.

The Alpha’s eyes closed for a moment on hearing the voice and when he opened them, looking straight at John, there was a well of emotion there.

“Molly?” The Alpha's voice was mercifully steady. John knew his wouldn't be.

“Sherlock. There’s a man. He says… he says he wants John. That you need to give him John. That John is rightfully his and you took him.” Molly’s voice was strained and terrified, she’d clearly been crying.

“If you give him back, he’ll return me to Miss Adler’s care. If you don’t, he’ll deliver the baby and then kill me with his own bare hands. He says… he says he knows people, people who want babies for other reasons. Sick reasons. And he’ll make sure my baby goes to one of them. Sherlock, _please_.”

“Molly, it’s going to be okay.” The Alpha reassured. “Is Moriarty there? I want to talk to him.”

There was a muffled clunk, like the phone had been dropped or jostled. There was some murmuring in the background before Molly came back on.

“No. He says the time for talking is over. He’ll text you with instructions. Sherlock, please, don’t let him take my…” The line went dead.

The Alpha let the phone drop to the floor and resumed pacing. John picked it up and placed it carefully on the sofa next to him, surprised at how steady his hands were given his heart was beating so fast.

“Sherlock?”

The Alpha ignored him, pacing back and forth again.

“Sherlock?” he tried again, louder and firmer. The Alpha paused, his back to the Omega. He spoke but didn't turn around.

“John, I can’t ask this of you.”

“You’re not. I’m telling you. We make the exchange. Me for Molly and the baby. You get her to Mycroft, you get him to take care of them both.”

“No, John…”

“You said it yourself. The many for the few. Ask Mycroft what he'd do. I’m an unbonded Omega, past my prime and unlikely to be adding significantly to the world’s population. Molly’s young. She could have lots more children. And she seems determined to keep this one.”

Even as he said it, John felt faint at the thought of what he needed to do. He leaned forward, letting his head drop lower and focused on his breathing. The beep of the phone next to him startled him and he looked at it with something akin to dread before searching out the Alpha.

Sherlock moved to sit so the phone lay between them. He met John’s eyes and when John nodded, slowly but with determination, he reached for it, letting his fingers clasp the cool plastic before bringing it closer to read the screen. As he did, he placed his other hand in John's, squeezing gently. John let his eyes close as he waited for the Alpha to speak, waited to hear the details of his fate. 


	18. Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the well-wishes. My wrist is much better and I've managed an extra long chapter. Enjoy.

“We have three hours. Two different locations. You go to one, I go to another. He returns Molly to me and you go with him.”

“That sounds straightforward.” The steadiness of his own voice surprised him. “Is this going to be like the last time, where you make me think you’re abandoning me to my fate and then you send Lestrade to rescue me at the last second?”

“No, John. Not this time.” The Alpha replied, sounding distracted.

“Oh. I was afraid you’d say that.”

“I’ll contact Mycroft. Tell him he can take his people back.”

“If he comes here, there’s a good chance I’ll punch him. Just letting you know that now.”

“That would be highly entertaining to see but he has more important things to be concerning himself with than your hurt feelings.”

“What things?”

Sherlock ignored his question.

“I must tell Lestrade to retrieve his people too. And we can let Mrs. Hudson know it’s safe to return, she doesn’t like to be away for too long.”

The Alpha started texting on his phone, ignoring John, who felt like he’d just been dismissed. Was it that simple? What had Sherlock called himself, a high-functioning sociopath? It made sense then that he’d lose interest. John was no longer a prospective bond mate and now had only one use, as a token to exchange for Molly Hooper and her baby. Still, it hurt to be so callously disregarded, especially considering the fate John was facing at Moriarty’s hands.

Swallowing hard, he stood slowly, walking towards the window. He’d barely looked outside so far that day but now he could see it was dry, though a little overcast, with a slight breeze pushing chimney smoke across the sky.

“Do you think I could go for a walk before we have to leave?” Even condemned men got one last walk, didn't they?

“Not a good idea. Wouldn’t want to jeopardise your safety before the exchange is made.” Sherlock replied, without even looking up.

“Right. Of course.” Moriarty wouldn’t want damaged merchandise.

“If you’re hungry there’s some bread there. It’s a little settled. And there’s some jam in the cupboard.” Sherlock added, waving a hand in the direction of the kitchen.

“Stale bread and jam. Not the last meal I’d have chosen.” John remarked. The Alpha didn’t answer.

He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t afraid but the inescapable truth was that he was terrified. What made it all the worse, was that there was no one there to care. Sherlock had written him off. Mycroft had his own agenda. Greg would spare some concern but he was a pawn on someone else's chessboard, about as much use as John was right that second.

It was hard to imagine that it was only hours ago that he’d thought the idea of bonding to Sherlock was starting to look appealing. They had a connection, a compatibility, that much was certain. And not just in the biological sense. But he guessed now they’d never know what might have come of it.

John pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to get his emotions under control. He was a soldier, he knew how to be stoic in the face of danger, in the face of fear. But he’d never faced anything like this. Moriarty’s words kept playing over and over in his mind. Every inch of his skin crawled with each recital.

He turned to look back at the Alpha who was still glued to his phone, texting. His posture was relaxed, legs crossed, seeming unconcerned.

“God, you really are going to just let him…” John bit off the end of the sentence and turned back to the window, forcing himself to take slow breaths. It wouldn’t do to wail and cry like a child. Brave. He had to be brave.

“John?”

The Omega jumped as the voice came from right behind him. Sherlock had moved, so quietly that he hadn’t even noticed. Two hands settled on his shoulders.

“Get off.” John said, shrugging his shoulders to dislodge the Alpha’s grip.

“John, please.”

“Just _stop it_ Sherlock. Stop pretending you care. Stop pretending you aren’t about to hand me over to a monster who’s going to rape and beat and mutilate me. Stop…”

His voice cracked, tears threatening to spill over onto the surface. He forced them down with deep, savage breaths.

The Alpha’s hands returned.

“I said get off!” John all but shouted, as the Alpha’s grip suddenly tightened and he turned John so they were face to face. Then Sherlock’s arms were encircling him, pulling him close even as he tried to push away, hands shoving bodily against the Alpha.

“Stop it now, John. Stop.” His arms were holding John tightly, pressing him against his chest.

“Let go. It’s not fair to do this now. You know what he’s going to do to me.”

“John, I need you to listen. I have a plan. Do you hear me? I have a _plan_.”

The Omega pulled back so he could look the other man in the eyes. “Are you serious? Sherlock, we can’t risk putting Molly in danger.”

“Molly won’t be in danger. You will, but you’ve shown yourself more than capable of handling yourself in dangerous situations.”

“Moriarty won’t risk that. He’s too careful of me for that.”

“Well, you’re going to need to trust me.” Sherlock said, catching John’s chin with two fingers.

“Trusting you is going to get me killed.” John replied softly.

“If that was true, you’d be dead by now. But here you are, alive and well.”

“Okay. So you have a plan. What is it?”

“Well, first of all we need to throw Moriarty off his game. Make him even angrier that he already is. Make him furious. People that angry, they make mistakes. And that’s what we’ll be counting on.”

“Did you have a plan in mind, about how to set him off?”

“I do. I’m not sure you’ll like it though.” Sherlock had the slightest of smiles on his face. “Why’s that?” John started to ask, but was distracted when the Alpha shifted, both hands cupping John’s face and drawing him in, even as he moved closer. Sherlock's lips brushed his, a tentative touch. John’s eyes fluttered closed. The second kiss was surer, and John found himself returning it, one hand coming up to cup the back of the Alpha’s head, pressing them together. Lips parted, the kiss deepened and it suddenly clicked in John’s head what the first part of the plan was. His laugh was swallowed by Sherlock’s mouth on his.

***

It was careless of him not to have noticed John’s reaction to his words. He’d declared the Omega unsaveable, then given his attention fully to his phone. By the time he’d returned to the room, John was already a ball of emotion; anger and terror warring for control.

He had to keep reminding himself that John barely knew him,. His experiences of Sherlock in dangerous situations were of him holding him down to be beaten or seemingly abandoning him to his fate at the hands of a madman. Hard to fault the Omega for assuming the worst.

The Alpha felt demonstration was superior to explanation and moved purposefully, letting his lips meet John’s, revelling in how the Omega’s initial surprise gave way to enthusiasm. His laugh was one of realisation. Sherlock pulled away.

“It was inevitable in the long run, so why not move the clock forwards? We want Moriarty incandescent with rage and this is one way to do it.”

“You’re crazy, you know that right? What makes you think it won’t incense him enough to just outright kill me?”

“Moriarty likes to watch people suffer. He wouldn’t miss such an opportunity.” Sherlock murmured in reply, thumb trailing along John’s reddened lips.

“You know if we do this there’s no going back, right? You can’t just ignore me when all this is over? I mean, there’ll be heats to deal with. It’ll be rough and time consuming for at least the first year.”

“I’m aware of the practicalities, Dr. Watson. Normally I wouldn’t be bothered by them but I think you'll be worth it. Of course, we’ll need to wait until your next heat for the full bonding but we should be able to make a start on it.”

Sherlock couldn’t help his grin, feeling not just pleased with himself but also with the Omega standing in front of him, matching him play for play. A verbal sparring partner, a veritable side kick, and now a bond mate? Once they got around the little issue of Moriarty and the high risk plan he’d devised, of course.

He glanced at his watch. “We have, by my count, about fifty-six minutes before Mycroft and the others arrive. We had better make them count.” He paused, tilting his head, before adding. “This might hurt a little. What with the suppressants still in your system… and the new ones you’ve started taking.”

“I haven’t started them. And I can deal with a little pain, when it’s for a good cause.” The Omega replied.

“Perhaps… my bedroom then? We have time for a little more experimentation.” Sherlock suggested.

"Only you could talk about science at a time like this. If you start taking notes, I'm calling it off." John joked as he led the way.

***

John tried not to tug self-consciously at the neck of his jumper, knowing there was no way Mycroft or Lestrade could have missed the fresh bite mark Sherlock had left.

Lestrade’s eyes went wide but Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow, glancing at Sherlock as if for an explanation. One was not forthcoming.

The plan was created, revised and rehearsed. John had to admit, it was both good and simple. Perhaps too much so. Still, Sherlock kept asking John to trust him. Before now his trustworthiness had been intangible, too swayed by circumstances and ulterior motives. Now though, the throbbing on the back of John’s neck sang clearly of the Alpha’s intentions. John was his. Now and always.

The timing was unfortunate. John had always imagined that if he was ever to bond, it would have been a slow, honeymoon-like affair. As it was, they were fifty-six minutes and counting with John nowhere near being in heat. It was all a little awkward and uncomfortable. Elbows and knees in odd places, missteps, but then John was suddenly engulfed in Sherlock’s arms, the Alpha’s breath warm on his neck, voice soft in his ear, and instinctively he was leaning forward, offering himself up for the Alpha to take. The bite hurt, without all the usual hormones to block the pain. But it was a sweet agony, a rightness.

And when he looked at the Alpha now, that was what he felt with each throb of pain. _His_ Alpha. _Their_ bond. Nothing Moriarty could do would take that from them. And it would just eat him up, inside and out. To know Sherlock had done what he never could.

It came time for them to move, to part. John checked his gun for the third time before slipping it in his pocket.

Sherlock stepped up to him.

“So this is it.” John said.

“Yes. It’s customary to say something poetic in these situations, isn’t it? Like ‘parting is such sweet sorrow.’ Or some such nonsense.”

John didn’t try to hide his smile. “I think we can skip the flowery prose, Sherlock. Get Molly. Be safe. Don’t get killed.”

“Concise and to the point. I like it.” The Alpha regarded him with bright eyes. “Remember the plan. Make him angry, throw him off balance. He’ll never see it coming.”

“I know. I’ve got it. Bye, Sherlock.”

The Alpha leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to John’s lips. “Your next heat is mine.” he whispered.

“I’m holding you to that.” John replied, then turned and followed Lestrade down the stairs.

The car journey seemed slow, like they were barely crawling along, the streets of London seeming frozen outside the windows.

Lestrade threw worried glances his way every now and then but kept conversation to a minimum. John was glad, it saved him from having to make small talk.

They stopped in the middle of a broad shopping street, windows long since smashed, stock looted. Another car idled across from them.

“This is it John. We wait for a call from Sherlock. You start walking the same time as Molly does. You get in the car and Molly gets in Sherlock’s vehicle.”

The call came three minutes later. “Alright John, you’re a go. Get out and walk, nice and slowly, to the other car. If we beep our horn, something’s wrong and you leg it back to our car. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.” John said, as he opened his door and stepped out. He made his way, one foot in front of the other, the car getting closer and closer. He almost wished for Lestrade’s car horn to sound, to save him from this. But that would mean something had happened to Molly. And he didn’t want that.

As he reached Moriarty’s car, the passenger door opened and one of Moriarty’s guards stepped out.

“Face the car. Hands on the roof.” He instructed tersely. John obeyed, feeling rough hands search him. They found and removed Lestrade’s gun, before pulling John's hands tight behind him and encircling them with handcuffs. Then John was pushed into the backseat, finding himself sitting next to Moriarty’s right hand man, Humphreys.

“Dr. Watson, so good you could join us. Jim will be so pleased to have you…” John knew the exact moment the other man caught sight of the bond bite, his silence telling.

“Drive on. We have places to be.” Humphreys said, with a sideways glance at John. He didn’t speak again, sighing his displeasure into the quiet of the car’s interior.

John was glad in one way, he’d have enough of talking from Moriarty when it came down to it. But Humphreys knew things John wanted to know.

“Where are the people from the Red House? Are they okay?”

“You mean the catalogue, I assume? They’re fine. Safe and sound. We have them installed in a temporary location until their new home is ready.”

“So they’re still here in London?”

“You’re quite the insatiably curious Omega aren’t you. Brave and bold. Not what you should be.” It was said with an air of disinterest. “Omegas are _usually_ so much easier to handle.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” John muttered.

They pulled into an underground car park and they seemed to have reached their destination. He was surprised when Humphreys and the guard ushered him quickly out of the car. Their car and a second then left the car park at speed.

“It will look like we switched cars, so if anyone was following us, they’ll follow the second or assume it was a ruse and follow the first.” Humphreys remarked. “Now, let’s get you upstairs.”

It was a short walk to the elevator, John amazed that Moriarty always managed to have power in whatever building he inhabited. “Portable generators?” he asked Humphreys as the elevator rose, his stomach sinking at the motion.

They reached the top floor and Humphreys gave the guard instructions. “Hands cuffed in front. Search him again for weapons. I had better warn him of the development.”

That left John alone with the guard who'd escorted him and another who stood outside Moriarty's door.

“It’s a lovely day.” John commented to the guard searching him. The other man didn’t bat an eyelid even though they both knew it was far from the truth.

He released John’s hands before resecuring them in front of him. Then he pulled John’s gun from his belt and slipped it into John’s waistband, covering it with his shirt. He used his body to block what he was doing from the other guard.

John tested his bound hands to make sure he could reach the weapon.

“Good luck.” The guard whispered as the door opened and Humphreys returned.

“Send him in, then leave them to it.” were the older man's terse instructions as he walked towards the lift.

John found himself none too gently pushed passed the other guard, through the door and into the room. It was dim inside and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Moriarty was standing next to an empty fireplace, a tumbler of some dark liquid in his hands. He swirled it absently. Then he raised his head, his eyes locking on John.

“Turn around and face the door.” John did, moving slowly, hands going to his belt as he did, pulling the gun out and positioning in between his fingers.

He heard soft footsteps as Moriarty crossed the carpet and he forced himself to stay still.

“You were mine. And that bastard stole you. Bonded you.” A finger traced the bite mark and John shivered.

“But he’ll never have you, ever again. You’re his heart now. His beating heart and I’ve torn it from his body. I can do what I like with it. Toss it around like a football. Cut it into little pieces and send it to him, bit by bit. Let you call him so he can hear your pathetic whimpering and pleading when I force myself inside you again and again. Neither of you will ever be whole.” He whispered softly

He put hands on John’s shoulders, unconsciously mirroring Sherlock’s movements from hours before, and turned him around.

John raised the gun, exhaling slowly. He saw the second Moriarty caught sight of it, saw the widening of his eyes, the brief flash of fear, and then he pulled the trigger.

Silence. Moriarty began to laugh. John tried again, realising all too late that the gun was light. Empty of bullets.

“Oh, John. Did Sherlock really think that would work? Buying off one of my own people to let you kill me? He and his brother need to up their game. Check and mate.” Moriatry laughed again, the sound sending shivers down John's spine.


	19. Binds

Moriarty tore the useless weapon from John’s hands and tossed into onto the nearby table. “He couldn’t even wait for you to come into heat, could he? He had to put his mark on you. Not thinking with his head, hmmm?”

He paced away from John. “Clever man, that Sherlock. And his brother. But their moves are so transparent.”

“They dismantled your breeding centres.” John couldn’t help but point out.

“I was distracted. I should have seen someone like Jenson turning up as too good to be true. And you… you played your part in that.” Moriarty's tone turned vicious all of a sudden.

“It’s not like I had much choice.” John's defense as weak and the Alpha scoffed at his words.

“I could have done so much for you. Kept you safe from harm. You’d have lived a life of relative luxury.”

“A life trapped in a cycle of pregnancies and torture.” John replied flatly.

“A small price to pay.” Moriarty said. “We all have to play our part to build this new world.”

“I can just about see a justification for the breeding centres. But what about the Red House?”

Moriarty smiled. “You’ve taken a keen interest in their welfare, haven’t you? They’re playing their part too. There aren’t enough females and Omegas to go around. Sex is a basic need. Venues like the Red House ensure more people get to fulfil that need.”

“Where are they now? Are they okay?” John tried not to make his eagerness to know their location too obvious.

“They are being well cared for, as always. Their accommodations aren’t as luxurious right now. Canary Wharf is no longer prime real estate.”

John's heart jumped at the words, at the knowledge. Moriarty laughed again.

“How cute. You really think you have a chance to effect change. Even though you’re trapped here with me. Do you still think Sherlock is coming for you? Poor John. Molly’s already dead and Sherlock, once I stop enjoying using you to torture him, will meet the same fate.”

“You wouldn’t kill a fertile woman.” John replied, feeling a sick sense of uncertainty. Moriarty was capable of anything.

“She was barely carrying that child. She’d never be able to handle another. Too sickly to last long in the Red House. But Sherlock, having to watch her die, was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

***

Mycroft rang while they were on route. “Snipers on roofs both sides of the street. I have men in place to intercept.”

“Trained snipers are hard to come by these days.”

“That’s why tasers are the order of the day and not bullets. I’m no amateur, Sherlock.”

“Yet so often it’s amateur hour when I’m around you.”

“Very funny. Don’t get out of the car. I can’t guarantee _your_ safety.”

“Moriarty won’t kill me. He’ll have John. He wants to watch me suffer.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. The snipers aren’t for you.”

The car pulled up to the designated location. It took effort not to get out. Especially when the door of the other car opened and Molly stepped into view. Mycroft was on speaker.

“The snipers have been neutralised.”

“Good. She’s walking to the car now.” Sherlock replied, leaning over to push open the door. Molly caught sight of him, her pale face lighting up and she quickened her pace. She reached the car, placed her hand on the door and a shot rang out. Her eyes widened in surprise and she pitched forward, Sherlock scrambling to reach her.

***

John was still reeling from the news that Molly was dead. He felt the blood drain from his face, his knees going weak. Moriarty’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder, pushing him down.

“Head between your knees now John. And just breathe.” John crouched and dropped his head, awkwardly balancing with his bound hands braced on the floor.

Moriarty circled around so he was standing in front of him.

“Your people are loyal.” John managed to choke out, looking past Moriarty to see that the door to the room was ajar.

“They are. I’ve ensured they can’t be bought.”

“Because you have something on them. Or someone.”

“What a clever Omega you are. People are loyal with the right incentives but there’s always someone willing to offer enough money to make people turn. Sometimes loyalty requires leverage.”

“And by leverage, you mean people. Partners, siblings, parents, children.”

“Exactly.” Moriarty smiled, pleased, and ran a hand through John’s hair.

“So when we tore down your little empire, you must have lost a lot of that leverage.” John pointed out.

Moriarty’s hand tightened painfully.

“Keep talking like that John, and I’ll take your tongue out. Believe me when I tell you you’re already in for a world of pain. Mutilation is optional, at least for now.”

The hand released him again. “My men are loyal, as you’ve seen with your own eyes.”

“Not men, man. One man. How many do you have in this building? Seven, eight? If even one of them has a loved one rescued by Mycroft Holmes, your leverage is gone.”

Moriarty’s hand gripped his hair hard and yanked John’s head up. “You’re not smart enough to play mind games, John. Leave that to your Alpha.”

“What do you think your chances are of getting out of this building alive?” John continued as if he hadn’t heard Moriarty, aware of the shadow in the doorway.

“I’d say they were zero.” An unfamiliar voice spoke up.

The man who’d been guarding the door was standing just inside the room. There was a gun in his hand, pointed unwaveringly at Moriarty.

“Vincent. Do we have some sort of problem?” Moriarty asked, sounding unruffled, hand smoothing John’s hair down.

“I spoke to my daughter this morning, for the first time in months. She’s in a government hospital.”

“And I’m sure she told you how well she’d been looked after by us. The best of care.”

“She’s pregnant, with twins.”

“Healthy babies. Healthy mother. She’s an important part of the world's recovery.”

“She’s seventeen, for god's sake.” The man shouted.

“And women throughout time have been having babies at her age.” Moriarty soothed.

“She sobbed on the phone as she told me how she’d been strapped down and your doctors forcibly implanted her with embryos while she begged them not to.”

“Sacrifices have had to be made by all of us.”

“You don’t look like you’re making sacrifices. I’ve seen what you do to those women and Omegas. Stood outside your door while they begged and pleaded, imagining that that might be my daughter if she should catch your eye one day.”

“Vincent, be reasonable, please…” Moriarty held out a hand, placating, and took a step forward. The first shot caught John by surprise. Moriarty froze above him. A second shot sounded and the Alpha crumpled to the floor.

Vincent approached, standing above Moriarty who lay on the ground gasping for breath. “You’re a sick bastard. Someone should have put you down long ago.” A third shot echoed through the room and Moriarty stilled. The other man stood frozen above them until John shifted. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come through.” John managed to say.

“I'm sorry. It took me some time to work up the courage. We’d better get out of here.” Vincent reached for John, helping him to his feet. He collected his gun from where it lay on the table as Vincent went to the door. “Joe probably has the key to the cuffs. I had to clock him on the head. He’s still out.”

“Well, he might not be for long.” John replied, as they hurried from the room. The man in question was lying on the floor beside the lift.

Vincent patted him down, extracting a key. He reached for John’s bound hands, making quick work of getting the cuffs off. “Here.” he handed the Omega a handful of bullets from Joe’s pocket and John loaded his gun.

They took the stairs, Vincent leading the way. “There are six of us in total in the building. So that’s four with Joe down, two at the front door, one at the back and one doing a circuit of the ground floor. There’s a side entrance, locked and alarmed. They’ll be alerted to us leaving but we’ll have a head start and they're unlikely to give chase without orders from Moriarty.”

He lead the way to the door, watching carefully for the patrolling guard. “We’ll need to run for it. On three, okay? One, two, three.” He pushed the door open and an alarm sounded. He took off, John on his heels.

***

Molly had landed on her knees beside the car. Sherlock grabbed for her and pulled her inside. The officer in the car with him was shouting into his radio.

Sherlock ignored him, attention fully on the woman face down in his arms. “Molly?” He ran a hand across her back, looking for the wound. She coughed suddenly, gasping for breath and Sherlock’s hands pulled up her shirt to reveal the heavy material beneath it.

“She’s wearing a vest?” The officer asked in disbelief.

“Sherlock?” A weak voice interrupted.

“It’s alright Molly. The kevlar vest caught the bullet, just like it’s supposed to.”

“There was a man, he put it on me just before they put me in the car. Said it was just in case.”

“One of yours, I assume, Mycroft.”

A tinny voice responded, sounding smug. “Of course. Who’s running amateur hour now, dear brother.”

The Alpha ignored him, focused on helping Molly sit up. “It hurts.” she gasped.

“You may have broken a rib or two. Try and take slow breaths.” He pulled the door closed and the driver sped away.

“Sherlock, what about John?” she asked.

“Don’t worry. We’re working on it.”

“That man. The things he was saying.”

“I know. It’s alright now Molly, you’re safe.”

She smiled faintly at him. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I’ve wasted a lot of time waiting for you.”

The car drove smoothly through quiet streets. They hit a speed ramp and Molly moaned, wrapping arms around herself.

“Just breath through it. We’re almost there.”

Molly went impossibly paler. “Sherlock. I think something’s wrong.”

“It’s probably a broken rib.”

“No.” she choked out, then grabbed her stomach with both hands, face twisting with anguish. “Ow. It hurts.”

“The shock may have brought on some contractions. They’ll pass. Just try and stay calm.”

But they didn’t. They got stronger and more frequent as they drove. Molly reached for Sherlock’s hand, squeezing tightly.

“It’s okay Molly. We’re getting you to a hospital. Everything will be okay.” Sherlock tried to reassure her. Molly shook her head. “I’m not strong enough for this, not now.”

“Like I told our friend Miss Adler. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

That earned him another brief smile.

“Hold on Molly, please.”

***

Vincent led him confidently through the streets, taking lanes and side streets and avoiding the main thoroughfares. They came to a street with a car idling next to the pavement. John went to duck back down the lane.

“It’s okay, they’re here for us. Friends of yours, I believe.” Vincent reassured, striding confidently towards it. John followed more cautiously. The door opened and John relaxed as he recognised a familiar face. Mycroft Holmes.

“Gentlemen, get in please.” They did.

“Mycroft, Moriarty said Molly was…”

“Molly Hooper is alive. But there was a complication. With the baby. She is at our hospital. Sherlock is with her. We’re going there now.”

“Is my daughter there?” Vincent asked.

“Hannah is there and eager to see you.” Mycroft assured him.

John sat back. There was nothing to do but wait. Mycroft's phone rang and he spent the rest of the drive giving instructions.

When they finally arrived, Mycroft led the way into the heavily guarded hospital with confident steps, Vincent and John following in his wake. He stopped a man in scrubs inside the door, speaking in undertones before turning back to them. “Vincent, Henry here is going to take you to see Hannah. We will talk again later.” They continued on, leaving Vincent and Henry behind them. Mycroft led them into a lift, pressing a button for the second floor.

“Sherlock will be happy to have you back unharmed. We weren’t sure our plan would work. Joe seemed somewhat weak-willed so we recruited Vincent as a backup.”

“And he came through. Moriarty told me the prisoners from the Red House were being held somewhere in Canary Wharf. Humphreys is still out there, he’ll move them as soon as he gets wind of what’s happened.”

“You really care about them, don’t you?”

“They’re not there by choice or any fault of their own.”

“I know. I must seem callous to you not to have done my utmost to save them before. But I do care. It's a matter or resources. I’ll send as many as I can spare. We’ll find them.”

“Thank you.” John replied.

The doors opened.

“Sherlock is in the waiting room through those double doors.”

“You’re not coming in?”

“Sherlock needs his Omega right now, not his annoying older brother.”

John nodded, making his way to the doors and stepping through, hearing the lift doors closed behind him. Sherlock was standing over to the left, by the window. He didn’t turn around.

“How’s Molly?” The Omega asked.

“The vest caught the bullet, sparing her injury apart from some bruising. But the shock of it sent her into early labour. There’s no word yet, on her or the baby.”

John let his eyes close. When he opened them, Sherlock had turned around and was staring at him.

“You appear unharmed but given Moriarty’s tendencies, that may be very far from the truth. How are you, John?”

“I’m fine, Sherlock.”

The Alpha breathed out, a sigh of relief.

“Do you mind if I ascertain that for myself?”

John frowned but shrugged. “Whatever you need.”

The Alpha stepped forward, hands tentatively reaching for him. As his fingers found John’s face, the Omega sighed, relaxing beneath the warm touch.

Sherlock pulled him forward, wrapping arms around him and pressing his nose into John’s hair, inhaling deeply.

“It’s _okay_ , Sherlock. Moriarty is dead. And I’m safe, right here with you.”

“Yes.” Sherlock breathed. “You are.”

The doors opened and a older man dressed in scrubs approached them. They both turned to hear the news.

“Mr. Holmes?”

“Molly. How is she?”

“She’s gone through a difficult labour but she’s stable.”

“And the baby?” John asked.

“In our neonatal ICU. She’s breathing on her own. A little smaller than we’d like but otherwise perfect.”

“Can we see Molly?”

“Perhaps in the morning. She needs rest.”

Sherlock tensed as if about to protest. John placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, we’ll return in the morning.”

The doctor went back the way he came, his footsteps fading into the distance.

“She’s in good hands Sherlock.” John said, before the Alpha could speak. “And she needs rest. We’ll check on her first thing. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. A few hours sleep will do us both the world of good.”

“Fine.” The Alpha replied, slipping an arm around John and guiding him towards the exit. “Let’s go home.”


	20. Fracture Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're coming towards the end, probably two or three chapters to go (I could be grossly underestimating, I've done that previously) 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the encouragement through comments and kudos, it has really helped me keep going with this story, which hasn't been the easiest to write at times.

They arrived back at Baker Street and, by unspoken agreement, lay down together in Sherlock’s bed, the Alpha throwing an arm over John’s tired body.

It seemed like John’s head had only just hit the pillow and Sherlock was shaking him awake again.

“Wha’?” he mumbled.

“Mycroft's been in contact. They’ve found what they believe to be the location where the Red House prisoners are being held. They’re going in at first light. He thought you would want to be there, that they might find it reassuring to see a familiar face.”

Sherlock sounded far more awake than John felt. But his words were enough to spur the Omega to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. “Alright, let’s go.”

They were out of the house within five minutes and into a car driven by one of Mycroft’s people.

“So it was Canary Wharf then?” John asked.

“It was. Moriarty must have been very secure in his belief that his own people wouldn’t turn on him to have told you that.”

“He was a bloody psychopath, Sherlock. I think it’s a little much to expect rational thinking from the likes of him.”

“And yet there was method in his madness. His organisation was producing more babies than Mycroft’s voluntary breeding programme was. Substantially more.”

“By forcing people to carry multiple births and inducing early labours. By depriving people of any liberties and massively increasing the risks for both parent and child.”

“I didn’t say it was laudable. Just successful.” Sherlock replied coolly, dousing some of the heat that had infused John’s tone.

The Omega sagged back in his seat, closing his eyes. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see that place. Being tied down twenty four hours a day like some animal, forced to endure invasive medical tests. Like a battery farm, only with humans rather than chickens.”

A hand touched his forehead, sure fingers circling his temple, the scent of the Alpha reassuring.

“You’re not there anymore John, you’ll never be back there. None of those people will. It’s not the way to do things. It’s not the way Mycroft will handle things.”

That forced John’s eyes open, curiosity pushing back the hateful memories.

“How _is_ Mycroft handling things?”

“I don’t know specific details, though knowing my brother I can deduce well enough. Here...”

He firmly turned John’s head so he was facing out the window, then his fingers found the bite mark on the back of John’s neck. He massaged the spot and John shuddered as heat flooded him.

“Sherlock…” he started to protest.

“You’re exhausted and tense. What we're about to see might be very unpleasant, so you need to remain calm. This will help, I’m sure.”

“It’s a little stimulating.” John replied hoarsely.

The Alpha’s fingers stilled. “Oh. You may be closer to your next heat than I’d envisioned.”

The kneading of his fingers lightened until he was barely brushing across John’s skin.

“Better?” Sherlock asked.

“Better.” John said, settling against the seat to listen to what Sherlock had to say.

“The current plan, from what I understand, is an incentivised breeding programme. They encourage people who _can_ carry children to do so within the safety of government communities. Both to produce children for themselves and as surrogates for others.”

“Communities? Like where Mycroft was taking Sam?”

“Yes. The military took possession of a number of cities and towns. Some of them are pure military installations. But growing numbers are actually working towns, with mixed populations.”

“Towns disguised as military camps?”

“A little predictable, I know. Necessary though, given the current climate.”

“And people who don’t want involvement in the programme, they’re just left to their own devices?”

“Mycroft is a believer in giving people choices. He’s not above manipulation to encourage people to make the choices he wants them to, but he’s no Moriarty.”

John couldn’t help tensing at the name and Sherlock’s hand moved to his shoulder, squeezing gently. When he spoke, his tone was one of reassurance.

“Mycroft’s people located and disposed of the body. They haven’t found Humphreys yet but it’s only a matter of time.”

The car slowed to a stop. They got out, Sherlock leading the way towards where Lestrade was standing, coffee cup in hand.

“Burning the candle at both ends, eh?” Greg remarked as they walked up. “Good result on Moriarty last night, John.”

“That was all Mycroft. It wasn’t even my gun.”

“Mycroft wasn’t the one putting his life on the line.” Greg replied. “Anyway, his people are just about to go in. They’ve surrounded a warehouse just across the road. One of the few buildings to survive the fire relatively unscathed. We’ll wait for them to clear the building and then we’ll enter.”

It was a tense few minutes while they listened to the radio chatter from Mycroft’s men. There was a brief burst of gunfire that set all three of them on edge.

Finally the all clear came and they entered. The leader of Mycroft’s team met them at the door.

“The prisoners are locked in cells on the west side of the warehouse. Moriarty’s men are all in custody, including the man we believe to be Humphreys. Mr. Holmes said to let you handle the prisoners. We have transport standing by to bring them to hospital or a safehouse.”

He led the way through the building. The room he brought them to appeared to have been recently outfitted with cells. The walls of the cells were solid except for the doors which had a small window to allow the guards to look inside. It smelled cleaner than John thought such close quarters ought to. Testament perhaps to the value Moriarty placed on these people. His catalogue; bargaining chips in the new world order.

They’d unlocked the cell doors but most of the occupants hadn’t ventured out. He was unsurprised to see Babs was one of the braver ones. The older woman, arms folded, was standing at the door of a cell eyeing the officers with suspicion. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of John walking towards her and within seconds she’d wrapped arms around him, squeezing tightly.

“It’s alright, Babs. These people are here to help. They work for what’s left of the government. We’re in safe hands.”

She pulled away, glaring at the officer standing nearby. "No such thing anymore. Though _you_ don't look too bad John. I'm guessing you haven't been Moriarty's plaything all this time?"

“No, I haven't," he replied with a smile. "Can you help me round up the others? There’s a hospital for anyone who needs it, and a safehouse for the rest.”

He saw the moment she caught sight of Sherlock, who’d stayed back near the door. Her face darkened and she pulled away. John moved quickly to reassure her.

“It’s okay, he’s not who we thought he was. He got me away from Moriarty. He and his brother helped track you down.” He held her hand, squeezing gently until she looked back at him.

“Well, if you say so. Let’s get the others out of those boxes. I’ll start at that end. You start here.” And she strode off determinedly.

He didn’t know the two women in the first cell, their reaction to his entrance so severe that he backed right out. A female officer went in instead, her soothing voice audible as he approached the next cell.

In this one he found two familiar faces, Derek and Joshua, the Omegas he'd cared for in the Red House infirmary. Derek greeted John almost casually and took little convincing to stride past him out of the cell. Joshua, on the other hand, was shirtless and sporting some very recent bruising. He was wary at first but let the older Omega wrap him in a blanket and guide him out. He balked at the sight of all the officers and hid his face in John’s shoulder. To John’s surprise it was Lestrade who managed to detach him, gentle and soft spoken as he coaxed the Omega to let go of John and stand with the others.

All in all, it took John, Babs and the two female officers about an hour to get everyone out of the cells, with Lestrade helping where he could. There were almost sixty people crammed into the room. It was clear it wasn’t just prisoners from the Red House but from at least one other location as well.

He was relieved to see many familiar faces. But those who recognised him also recognised Sherlock, which led to some disquiet. John triaged them one by one, explaining as he went a shortened version of what had happened.

“Ding-dong the bastard's dead.” Babs had all but sang on hearing about Moriarty’s demise. That had raised a smile on many faces, even Joshua’s.

Only a dozen needed hospital treatment, with John confident the rest could be taken care of in the safehouse Mycroft had promised. Their transport there was by bus and John accompanied them. He tried to suggest Sherlock go visit Molly but the Alpha was having none of it. “We’ll go to the hospital together once your friends are settled. Mrs. Hudson has gone to keep Molly company.”

The safehouse turned out to be a hotel and it was almost lunchtime by the time they’d managed to get everyone sorted out with rooms. There were support staff on hand which seemed to consist of a nurse, two counsellors and a dozen care workers. Their manner suggested this wasn’t the first time they’d dealt with people under these circumstances. John busied himself checking on those with minor injuries and leaving instructions for their care. Sherlock stayed down in the lobby, watching the goings-on with an air of detachment. A few times John saw him talking to the staff but otherwise he kept to himself.

It was hard to leave but as long as he stayed so too would Sherlock and there was more than a little distrust there for him. Sherlock had overseen the work of the Red House and it wasn’t easy for some of them to forget that, the Alpha an unwelcome reminder of horrors all too recent.

John wanted to go straight to the hospital but Sherlock insisted they go home and eat first.

“What, stale bread and jam?” John had retorted.

Sherlock was unusually quiet on the drive back. No offhand observations about their driver or the route he took which John had seen Sherlock take pleasure in previously. The Alpha seemed preoccupied but John put it down to tiredness.

They’d returned to Baker Street to find a freshly baked loaf of bread and a pot of soup with a note from Mrs. Hudson.

“That women is an angel.” John said, tucking into a bowl of hot vegetable soup and savouring each bite of the crusty bread. He was surprised to see Sherlock eat but then they’d both been running on little more than fumes for days.

“There are some things we should talk about.” Sherlock started to say as they finished their meal.

“What kind of things?” John felt inexplicably wary, something in Sherlock’s tone making him uneasy.

“You taking your suppressants, for one.” The Alpha's attention was fully on his soup.

“But we’re going to bond on my next heat.” John said, pointing out the obvious.

“I don’t think that would be a wise move for either of us, do you?” The Alpha replied, sounding disinterested.

When John didn’t reply, he continued. “It would be an unreasonable impediment to my work.”

“But we agreed… I have your _bond bite_ on my neck.” John countered with bewilderment.

“A means to an end. We needed Moriarty angry enough to be careless and distracted. A bite doesn’t mean a bond if no heat follows. Suppressants will end the connection.”

“But you said you wanted…”

“I needed you on side to tackle Moriarty. He's out of the picture now so we can go our separate ways. Mycroft will happily arrange to assist you with whatever you choose to do. There are many opportunities for someone with your skills. Those towns I spoke of need doctors.”

Sherlock spooned the last of his soup into his mouth as John stared at him, trying to work out what was going on.

“Why are you doing this?”

“What? Being honest? Because you deserve it, after everything.” Sherlock pushed his bowl away and stood up.

“I’ve used you John, from the moment I met you. Played the villain, played the hero, played the Alpha prince charming. And I got what I wanted. Moriarty out of the picture and a supply of women and Omegas that will keep my brother content for quite a while and let me get on with more interesting work. Work I would never be able to do with an Omega trailing in my wake.”

John felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He could feel the Alpha’s mark on his neck, blood thrumming beneath the bite on his skin, telling him, over and over, that the Alpha standing next to him was _his_.

“Sherlock, please. Surely we can talk about this…”

“What more is there to talk about John? Can I _be_ any clearer? I don’t want an Omega, I never have.”

And with that he left the room, footsteps heavy on the stairs, the door to the flat opening and shutting moments later. John looked down to see his spoon gripped tightly in his fingers. He let it fall, hitting the bowl with a hollow clink.


	21. Jagged Edges

Minutes passed and John sat there, unmoving. Sherlock had ended their agreement, just like that. Had walked out and left him there. He pressed the back of his hands against his eyes, trying to push back the itchy, stinging sensation.

It was stupid to have this reaction. It had been an arrangement of convenience, nothing more, and clearly it hadn’t even been that much.

Feeling nausea rise in the pit of his stomach, he got to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. He retched, bringing up most of what he’d eaten. He felt wrong; disgusting, dirty. The mark he’d worn with a mixture of pride and embarrassment pulsed on his neck but the sensation sent his stomach roiling again.

He grabbed a washcloth from the sink, soaked it with water and scrubbed hard over the bite. He wet the cloth and did it again and again. He only stopped when he went to rinse and saw the pink tinge of blood. The sight of it was enough to bring him to his senses.

Sighing he replaced the cloth, holding it tightly against the bite to stem the bleeding. When he pulled it away minutes later there wasn’t more than a few smears of blood. He wrung out the cloth, throwing it into the wash basket.

The sound of the front door opening had him moving towards the top of the stairs. Maybe Sherlock had come back?

“It’s just me, boys. DI Lestrade was kind enough to drop me home.” Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs. John came down to see the DI in question hovering near the door. “Sherlock in?” he asked.

“No. He went out.” John answered shortly. “Are you going back to Scotland Yard?”

“Yeah, I need to eat and get some sleep. It’s been a busy few days.” His eyes narrowed as he took in the Omega’s appearance.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, I… I need a place to stay.”

“Don’t be silly, John.” Mrs. Hudson said from behind them. “You’re staying here with Sherlock. You two are practically engaged.”

John looked from her to Greg and swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

“He’s… he’s called it off. I need to get out of here.”

“Called it off?” Greg replied with a bemused smile. “A bond isn’t something you can just call off…”

“It’s just a bond mark, not a full bond. And, apparently, you can just call it off.”

“Oh, nonsense. You’ve just had a bit of a tiff, that’s all. Happens to everyone and Sherlock can be hot-tempered sometimes. Wait until he comes back and you’ll make up.” Mrs. Hudson said.

“He _used_ me. To get to Moriarty. He never had any intention of bonding.” John replied tightly.

Lestrade muttered a curse under his breath as Mrs. Hudson took a step towards John as if to comfort him then seemed to think better of it. “How about a cup of tea? Good for a shock. And I have some biscuits in the tin.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson, but I just want to get out of here.”

“You can come back to the Yard with me and we’ll work things out from there.”

“Thanks, I’ll grab my coat.”

***

John's third visit to New Scotland Yard and he wondered how long he’d be there for this time. The room he’d been in before was still free though Sam’s room was now occupied by someone else.

Sherlock’s words kept repeating in his mind. “Those towns need doctors.” He tried to picture that, picture himself in one of those safe communities, where normal, everyday life went on as if nothing apocalyptic had happened. All he could think was… boring. A lifetime of nothing. He’d put himself through medical school and thrown himself into the army in order to escape that kind of life. This world was horrific, the last fifteen months terrifying, but it was also the most exhilarating things had been since he’d been invalided out of the army. Survival itself was a struggle, an adventure. One that had kept him going, that had turned his thoughts from his own gun and his need to the escape the mindless existence he’d found himself in when he’d returned to London.

He flopped down onto the bed and closed his eyes, though he knew he wouldn’t sleep. The disappointment was understandable but its depth less so. Sure, an Alpha had promised him a bond but he’d long got over the idea that that was his future. In truth, it was the loss of the freedom and security that bonding would have given him that bothered him. In this society that meant even more to John than it ever had. To have that possibility torn away opened wounds both old and new.

Could he find another Alpha? Of course. The odds were very much in his favour these days. But a compatible Alpha, that was a different story. Most Alphas were more traditional when it came to Omegas. They’d want John safely behind the walls of a secure compound or in one of Mycroft’s military towns. They’d more than likely want babies and expect John to be a full-time parent. If they did concede to let him work, he could envision part time work as some sort of general practitioner. It was worlds away from what a life with Sherlock would have been.

After an hour of lying there, and no sign of sleep coming, he rose and headed downstairs to find Lestrade. He followed the sound of the man’s voice towards his team’s office. As he reached the door, another voice spoke, loud and disgruntled.

“An unbonded Omega in London is an accident waiting to happen, Lestrade. You know that as well as I do. Jim Moriarty might be out of the picture but there’s a dozen others like him and hundreds more who’d take a chance for the kind of price an Omega would fetch.”

John didn’t catch Lestrade’s mumbled response.

“And we all agreed the Yard wasn’t going to be a permanent residence for fertiles and children. We’re just a way-station, we move them on. We're well aware we’re not leak proof. Moriarty has at least one pair of eyes and ears in this building. He may be dead but you can bet your life on it that whoever it is has found someone else to buy the information they're selling.”

“You’re right Jerr, but John needs time to consider his options.”

“What options?” the other man replied scornfully. “Mycroft Holmes is the only choice we have. The sooner we move that Omega on, the better.”

The words turned John cold and he retreated back the way he’d come, up the stairs and to his room. It was hard hearing the stark truth; that that life he could envision, the life he dreaded, was the only choice.

But that wasn’t strictly true, was it? In _their_ view it was the only option, but like everyone else they saw Omegas as weak and in need of protection. John had survived the un-barriered streets of London for fourteen months. Sherlock had warned him that the streets wouldn’t be safe for him as long as Moriarty was looking for him. Moriarty was dead. So John could return home.

***

Sherlock ignored the buzz of his phone as he walked. Mycroft had been more than a little tedious lately, he was overdue a break from him. One he wasn’t likely to receive, he realised, as a dark car pulled up alongside him a quarter of an hour later. With a long suffering sigh, he opened the door and got in.

“You’re not answering your phone.” Mycroft commented, his attention on the mobile in his hand.

“I’m busy.” Sherlock replied.

“Why is your Omega back in New Scotland Yard while you are wandering the streets?”

“He’s not my Omega. And I don’t keep track of his movements.”

“My mistake, that obviously wasn’t your bond mark I saw on his neck. And I must have imagined you obsessing over Dr. Watson’s every move these past few weeks.”

“A means to an end, as you well know. You were the one who tasked me to track down the women and Omegas you couldn’t find.” Sherlock hissed in reply.

“Such venom, little brother. What could I possibly have done? Ah, but it’s not me you’re angry at, is it. John, then? Did he decide bonding wasn’t his cup of tea? But no, I don’t think so. You were his ticket to the sort of life he’s always wanted. The thrill of the chase, the danger.”

Mycroft put his phone away. “Which leaves you. Tell me, Sherlock, what brought on this most monumental of mistakes?”

“You assume a lot, Mycroft. Is it so hard for you to accept that I simply couldn’t countenance being bonded to another, intellectually inferior, human being.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows but didn’t reply. At length, he asked one question.

“Who spoke to you?”

Sherlock busied himself looking out the window.

“Alright, let me see if I can deduce it. Not Lestrade, though he’s the kind of person to stick a well-meaning oar into someone else’s business. Not Molly Hooper, you haven’t even been to see her yet. Not Mrs. Hudson. Like me, she believes bonding would be good for you. So who…”

Mycroft chuckled. “Oh, Sherlock. Tell me you didn’t. The _counsellor_?”

“ _She_ initiated the conversation.” Sherlock said defensively, resolving to go back and delete the memory of the grey haired woman’s nasal voice.

“We recruited her because she used to work for that hand-wringing organisation, the Omega Welfare Bureau.” Mycroft pointed out.

“She said that bonding would re-traumatise him. That it was too soon. That he might never be ready to bond.”

Mycroft tsked dismissively. “What would _she_ know?”

“Apparently quite a lot. She had spoken to some of the others incarcerated with John. She was aware, in some detail, of what John had gone through at Moriarty’s hands.”

Mycroft’s expression softened just a little.

“The OWB have always taken the traditionalist stance, that Omegas are weak and frail and in need of protection. That they don’t know their own minds. They usually take one of two views, depending on the circumstances. Either an Omega needs an Alpha and is incomplete without one or Alphas are evil and the Omega should avoid them at all costs. There is little middle ground to be found.”

Mycroft paused as if to let the information sink in.

“John Watson won’t thrive in any safe community I place him in, Sherlock. And as a unbonded Omega, he won’t be safe on the streets of London.”

“He won’t be safe with me, either. Better him bored in one of your towns.” Sherlock pointed out.

“And how long do you think he’ll tolerate being bored? This is a man who defied societal norms to pursue not just a medical career but a military one as well. Putting his life on the line day after day. His therapist’s notes after his discharge were not promising. I suspect, if the pandemic hadn’t broken out and nothing significant had changed, he’d have put a bullet in his own brain months ago.”

Sherlock’s reply was soft.

“I know.”

“I know you you do, brother. Which is why I’m failing to understand your actions. You’re condemning him to death. And denying your own needs in the process. I know I’ve told you that caring isn’t an advantage but I would have thought you’d at least have some sense of self-preservation.”

“I fail to see how not bonding could be construed as a lack of self-preservation.”

“You’ve always been somewhat blind to your own failings. Most people get more risk averse as they get older but you’ve done the opposite. Death by misadventure becomes more and more likely as the years pass. Bonding would reduce that risk.”

“Even though it will take an Omega out of your ever dwindling pool of fertiles? And working with me will put John in near constant danger?”

“The overall risk to both of you will be reduced in the long term. All the data on bonded pairs supports that.”

Sherlock couldn’t hide his snort of amusement. That data had little relevance where he or John were concerned.

“Come, Sherlock. See reason. If not for your own sake, then for Dr. Watson's."

Sherlock's phone buzzed. Lestrade. He answered, if only to get away from Mycroft's incessant chatter.

"Sherlock, John's gone..."

Mycroft was watching him out of the corner of his eye as he hung up the phone.

"The good doctor chose the streets then? A predictable outcome."

Sherlock had the car door open before Mycroft had finished speaking, the driver cursing as he was forced to break sharply. The Alpha didn't look back as he climbed out and strode off down the street, Mycroft calling after him.


	22. Tracks

Running away was all well and good, John thought, unless you happened to have a GPS chip lodged in your back. How long would it take them to realise he was gone, activate it, and track him down? What if someone else, one of Moriarty’s people, tracked it instead?

It made his first goal very clear. He had to get rid of it. After he managed to leave Scotland Yard unchallenged, he crossed through the nearest barrier exit without difficulty, though he did get some odd looks. He was more vulnerable out here than he’d ever been before. He thought again of the suppressants in Sherlock’s flat, regretting not taking them with him. If he went back now he’d likely not get out again. And then he’d be Mycroft Holmes’ problem to deal with.

Instead, he made a beeline for familiar territory. He found a bicycle abandoned on a street twenty minutes later and, after a good look around to make sure its owner wasn’t nearby, he took it. He knew to keep up a good speed once he started. Cycling wasn’t as unobtrusive as walking. There were others about, people walking, cycling. He saw two cars in the distance, a motorcyle crossed his path and he passed a small street market.

Removing the chip was a problem. He wouldn’t be able to do it by himself, and there were very few people he could trust to remove it for him. Plus he’d been gone for weeks. There was every chance the landscape of where he’d lived had changed dramatically in that time. His best chance was Simon.

He cycled with determination but stopped a few streets away from his destination, hiding his bike behind some bins in a laneway. Continuing on foot, he was cautious and watchful despite the familiar surroundings. He reached his destination; an old fruit and veg shop, long since abandoned, a faint musty smell the only remnant of what was once sold there. Most people wouldn’t notice more than the dilapidated appearance but John saw the recently disturbed dust that told him people were still passing through.

He made his way through to the back of the shop, which opened into a small yard. Crossing to the building behind, he looked for a sign of anything out of place. Finding none, he knocked four times on the door and stepped back into the middle of the yard, giving anyone at the windows a clear view of him.

He caught the flash of movement on the first floor. Minutes passed before the clang of bolts being withdrawn drew his attention back to the door. It opened a sliver and a grey-haired man peered out. A sharp bark sounded and he looked down to see one of Simon’s dogs poke his nose out through the crack.

“John?”

“Hello, Simon. Been awhile.”

“Hmm.” The other man replied nonchalantly. “So it has. You coming in? Fiona’s happy to see you.” He opened the door wider and Fi bounded towards him, tail waving frantically. He stooped down to pet her head, grimacing a little when she licked his hand.

Straightening up, he followed Simon inside, Fi at his heels. He bolted the door carefully behind him. Simon was already climbing the winding staircase. John followed after him, watching his step as he rounded a corner and found one of the cats stretched out across the stair. He glared at it as he stepped over it but it paid him no heed. When he reached the landing, a tabby cat was sitting on the sill, delicately licking its paw and washing its face.

“I’ll make us a cuppa.” Simon called from the next room.

“Actually Simon, I’ve a bit of problem and it's time sensitive.” John got straight to the point, following him into the room. He blinked at the sight of a rabbit on the table.

“Won’t one of the cats kill him?” He asked distractedly.

Simon huffed a laugh. “That one? She’s got a back-kick that’ll throw them halfway across the room if they try. The smaller ones are still in the hutches up on the roof.”

“Right. Well, I’ve got a GPS chip embedded in my back and I need it out.”

Simon regarded him for a moment with furrowed brows. “Better get that coat and shirt off then.” He remarked, then slipped out of the room, Fi following him. Simon's other dog, Lou, sat at the door watching John, tail thumping against the floor.

He was back minutes later with a tray of equipment. “Sterilised these just this morning. It’ll save time. Sit down.” He gestured towards the table. John pulled out a chair and sat, bracing his arms on the table and leaning forward. Simon set the tray down next to him and donned a pair of gloves.

“Here?” he asked, prodding the point below his shoulder blade that John could barely reach.

“Yeah.” He replied quietly. “Right there.”

“You need something to bite down on?” Simon asked as he cleaned John’s skin with disinfectant.

The Omega shook his head. “I’ll be okay. Just do it.”

“Humans are easier than animals when it comes to small procedures like this. Much harder to get a dog to sit still while you dig its chip out.” He picked up the scalpel and John closed his eyes. Simon made quick work of the incision and John heard the clink as the scalpel dropped back into the tray. He picked up another instrument and returned to the site. John had to bite his lip to silence a sound of pain as the forceps dug into the wound.

“Hold steady, John. I can see it, just need to grab the edge… there, got the bastard.” He announced triumphantly as the chip hit the table with a small plink. John sighed with relief.

Simon moved swiftly to the shelf, picking up a hammer. Returning to the table, he took aim and let the tool fall, smashing the chip into tiny pieces.

“Sorted. A stitch or two and you should get out of here in case whoever it is comes looking.” He changed his gloves and got to work suturing the small laceration.

“How’s your chest?” John asked, trying to take his mind off the pain.

“It hasn’t given me much trouble since the last antibiotic you got me. Inhalers are running low though.”

“I got hold of some more a few weeks ago, I’ll drop them over.”

“There. Done and dusted. You should be off. Take these with you.” He handed John a box of tramadol. When John tried to refuse them, he added. “Might be good for a trade if you don’t need them.”

He could see readily enough that Simon was keen for him to get going. It was hard to blame him. All he wanted now was a peaceful life looking after his animals. He didn’t want the kind of trouble an Omega like John would bring for him.

John thanked him again and slipped his clothes on. Simon escorted him back to the door and John made his way out.

“Once things are safe, I’ll be by with those inhalers.” He said in parting. Fi barked once as he left, shushed quickly by Simon.

Back on the streets, John stayed on foot. He was in familiar territory now, though he needed to get the lay of the land again. Things changed quickly here, groups moving in and out. It had been worse during the first eight months but things began to settle after that.

His second priority was to get his hands on some suppressants to stave off his upcoming heat and to sever the weak bond as Sherlock had suggested. Just the thought of the Alpha had his heart thumping painfully, not to mention the bond bite on his neck. 

Getting suppressants was trickier than it had been. His best source was compromised and he’d been off his suppressants so long it would be obvious to any Alpha what he was. Not that buying suppressants in itself didn’t telegraph his biology.

He’d known there was a chance he’d lose his supplier so he’d sourced some alternatives, though none as reputable. Still, he had to try. And he had the painkillers to barter with and, if they weren’t enough, the gun would be.

Making a decision, he headed west, ignoring the twinges of pain in his back. He’d have to pick up the pace if he wanted to get back to his home before nightfall. Assuming his home was still his and not someone else’s.

***

Sherlock ran through the possibilities of where John might have gone as he made his way back to Baker Street. The Omega had clearly survived on the streets for quite some time. He’d lived somewhere, likely to the north of the city, maybe in the suburbs.

The Alpha felt it was a distinct possibility that John had put his medical skills into practice. Made himself somewhat useful, if not invaluable, to local survivors. Not the gang members, or the crazies, but the vulnerable. The old, the young. The ones for whom street living was never going to come naturally.

His phone rang repeatedly while he walked. Knowing it was Mycroft or Lestrade, he ignored it.  But on reaching Baker Street, the black car was parked up outside.

He walked past it, unlocked the door, and took the stairs two at a time, ignoring Mrs. Hudson’s attempt to get his attention.

Mycroft was sitting on his sofa.

Sherlock was all set on acting like his brother wasn’t there but he caught sight of the item Mycroft had set down on the coffee table in front of him.

“He didn’t take them, I’m afraid.” Mycroft offered, with a sympathetic tone that grated on Sherlock’s ear. “I’ve sent someone to activate the GPS system.”

“But that will light up John’s location not just to us but to anyone with access. There may be people who were on Moriarty’s payroll still monitoring it. There could be people on your payroll working against our interests.”

“It may be a chance we have to take.”

“The chip will be the first thing John will get rid of.” Sherlock added.

“So we’ll activate it just long enough to determine his approximate location and deactivate it again.”

Mycroft’s phone buzzed. “That will be my people, what will I tell them?”

The Alpha sighed but relented. “Do it.”

Mycroft answered the phone and listened. “Thank you.” was all he said.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as Mycroft ended the call.

“They’ve already been tracking John.” He surmised.

“Of course, I told them to as soon as you left the car. They had a location, north of here, but the chip's signal disappeared fifteen minutes ago. They thought it was a system problem but a reset didn’t resolve it.”

“Because it isn’t a 'system problem'. He took it out. It’s a dead chip. The location?”

Mycroft provided him with a street name. “You shouldn’t go alone. It’s nowhere near a barriered area.”

“It’s a fool's errand. Best I go by myself.”

“You were all set to let him go. And now you’re prepared to track him down. Quite the change of heart.”

“I let him go when I thought _you_ were taking care of him.” Sherlock snapped.

“Did you really underestimate him to that extent? No, that wasn’t it, was it? You assumed he’d take the suppressants with him.”

"I assumed far too much." he replied with irritation.

"Perhaps not enough. You don't seem to have anticipated the depth of the reaction your rejection would provoke. Lestrade says John seemed shocked. A natural reaction for an Omega whose body is preparing for bonding."

And that was what Sherlock was worried about. He and John had a partial bond, the Omega was on the cusp of heat, and only a high grade suppressant would be enough to sever that. Otherwise, John would be in serious difficulty, and soon.


	23. Targets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments/kudos and to anyone reading along. Passed 10,000 hits yesterday, a milestone I never anticipated reaching when I started this!
> 
> Warning for references/allusions to non-con.

Tracking Lee down had always been a bit of an ordeal. He wasn’t in the last location John had met him so he tried a nearby park, knowing he was probably still supplying the local addicts. He traded a few pills and was pointed in the direction of a nearby pub.

It wasn’t a place John was familiar with, before or after the pandemic. Before he pushed open the door, he double-checked the collar of his coat was turned up to hide his neck. Inside, he found the dimly lit room sparsely populated, a few odd looks thrown his way as he went to have a word with the barman. In response to his query, the guy jerked his head in the direction of the door around the side of the bar.

John pushed open the door and stepped through. He was immediately on edge, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. When he found himself face to face with three men, he decided, even armed, that he didn’t like the odds. He went to back out only the door had shut behind him. Turning, he found it locked.

“Can we help you?” A voice asked casually.

“I’m looking for Lee.” he said, trying to sound equally casual as he turned back to face them.

“You’ve missed him, I’m afraid.” The man replied. “Hasn’t been here in a few weeks.”

“Right, thanks. I’ll be going so.” He gestured towards the door.

“Perhaps we can be of assistance.” The second man said, rising to his feet.

“I don’t think so, but thank you.” He kept it polite, despite the racing of his heart as his adrenaline spiked.

“Why in so much of a rush?” The third man asked, also rising. _Alpha_ , John’s body sang in warning.

“Oh, you know. Things to do, people to see.” John replied, hand tightening around his gun.

The Alpha stepped forward and John drew his weapon.

“It’s been lovely talking you gentleman, but I’m leaving, _now_. So one of you needs to open this door.”

As he spoke the door creaked behind him. He turned his head to see the barman in the doorway and jerked an elbow back to make contact with the man’s nose. He fell back cursing as John aimed his gun at the Alpha, the biggest threat in the room.

“I’m leaving..” He started to say, taking a step backwards only to feel the press of mental against his back. The barman had recovered quicker than he’d thought, and he was armed. _Fuck_.

The Alpha laughed. “It seems we have a very special guest.”

Shooting his way out wasn’t ideal but it was his best chance given he was of little value to them dead. As he fired the first shot, blinding pain lit across the back of his head. His hearing was the last thing to go as his legs went from under him, shouts and muffled cursing surrounding him.

***

Sherlock found himself standing in the middle of a seemingly deserted street. The bark of a dog drew his attention to the row of buildings on the left side. They all looked equally abandoned but his keen eyes landed on the fruit and vegetable shop. The closer he got, the more convinced he became that he was on the right track. The dust on the floor was disturbed, a clear line from the front of the shop to the back. He followed it, finding himself in a small yard facing a door. He knocked and waited, eyes focused upward.

He saw the flash of movement in a window.

“I’m looking for John Watson.” he called. “A friend of mine. I have reason to believe he might be in trouble.”

The window opened and the muzzle of a rifle poked out.

“John’s not here.” A voice called.

“I thought not.” Sherlock replied. “Do you know where he went?”

“He didn’t say.”

Sherlock sighed impatiently. “Well what _did_ he say?”

“That he’d be back in a few weeks, with my inhalers.”

“I believe he is trying to get his hands on some suppressants. Have you any idea where he might source them?”

“You the Alpha whose bite is marring his neck?” The man regarded him with narrowed eyes.

“That was entirely consensual, I assure you.”

“Doesn’t explain why he’s out searching for suppressants.”

“It’s complicated. Do you know where he might have gone to get them?” Sherlock repeated himself.

There was a long silence.

“If you know what John is then you know how much danger he is in right now.” Sherlock added.

“I don’t venture out much.” The older man replied, shushing a dog who began to bark. “But if I had to put money on it, he’ll have gone to find Lee Suresh. He sourced some antibiotics and insulin from him a few months back. He used to operate out of the tourist office but John sometimes tracks him down through the junkies hanging around the park just north of here.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock said, turning to make his way back out.

“I hope you find him.” The man called after him.

***

John woke face down on the ground, his hands tied behind his back, a gag stuffed into his mouth. He struggled to get his knees under him, realising as he did that his feet were bare; he’d been stripped of his shoes and socks. His belt was missing too as was his coat and jumper. The shirt he was wearing had been unbuttoned.

“Good, sleeping beauty is awake at last. And you are a beauty, mark my words. If it wasn’t for that little mark on your neck, you’d be just perfect.”

John recognised the Alpha’s voice readily enough and turned his head to glare at the man who merely laughed. “Ooh, you’re angry I see. Doesn’t seem fair considering all I did was offer to help you and you went and tried to shoot me. Just a graze thankfully but don’t think I’ll forget it that easily. Now, let’s have a closer look at you.”

John shuffled backwards, out of reach.

“Ah, ah. None of that now. It’s not polite. You wouldn’t want to be more trouble than you’re worth. Omegas who are too much trouble end up working in the kind of places people like you have nightmares about. Spreading their legs for twenty or thirty men a day, every hole in their body aching.”

John stopped moving, swallowing down the bile that rose in his throat.

“Good boy. You’re a smart one, I can tell.” His hand fisted in John’s hair and tugged his head forward.

“I can see that’s a bite on your neck. That’s not good news for you. Bonded Omegas, well, their use is limited, ain’t it? Your Alpha is the only one who can get you through your heat. Except you don’t quite smell like a bonded Omega.” He leaned in and inhaled deeply, nose pressed to John’s neck. He spoke quietly in his ear.

“So I’m guessing you’ve got this pretty bond bite but your Alpha didn’t quite finish the job. Not a problem normally, just pop a few suppressants down your throat, it kills the cycle and the bond, resets you to neutral. But you’re a little too close to your heat for that. Can you feel it? The tightness in your skin? Your body making all those delicious hormones in preparation?”

His words resonated with John who’d been doing his level best to avoid acknowledging the changes in his body.

“So no suppressants, no whoring you out to all and sundry. You need to bond. And we’re willing to help with that. ‘Cos that’s the great thing. It doesn’t need to be the bastard that bit you, any unbonded Alpha will do, and I’ve a long list that’ll pay handsomely for you. I’d bet my life you’re fertile too but they’ll have to take their chances with that.”

He released John with a shove and the Omega smacked against the wall with a muffled grunt of pain.

“I’ve already got the word out. They’ll want to come and see you, so there'll be a show and tell, and then we’ll have ourselves a bidding war. It’ll have to be quick, of course. You’ve only a few days before your heat hits.” His hand found John’s head, fingers trailing through his hair before tightening again. The Omega tried to hold still under the man’s touch, angry to find himself shaking.

“Now, let’s have a look under those clothes, make sure you’re not hiding anything else.”

A hand between John’s shoulder blades pushed his face towards the floor.

***

Sherlock tried the tourist office first, but it was clear no one had been there in more than a month. Almost no one, he corrected himself, seeing the tell tale signs of small rodents. Someone had been there weeks before and they’d had food.

The park was next. There were three people huddled in a bench, the spark of a lighter standing out in the gloom of the evening.

He rooted in his pockets, pulling out a small bag of white powder with a grimace. It would have to do.

Ten minutes later he was striding through the streets, destination set. He ran through the permutations in his mind. The addict who’d told him where he’d sent John had done so with a grin that spoke volumes. It didn’t take much to persuade him to be more forthcoming.

Lee Suresh had met a pitiful end by all accounts and now they were rewarded for every customer of his they sent on. It had come to light that Lee was supplying suppressants, so each customer was a potential Omega. John had been sent into the lion’s den and, even with all his training, it was unlikely he’d make it back out without help.

Sherlock pushed the door to the establishment open, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Under the sharp tang of liquor was the familiar scent of Omega. John had been here, and recently.

The barman was cleaning a glass absentmindedly. He regarded Sherlock with curious eyes.

“You here to view the merchandise?”

Sherlock put the pieces together seamlessly before throwing out a bored. “Well, it’s not every day an Omega comes on the market. But these days the quality always leaves something to be desired.”

“Not this Omega.” A voice spoke behind him. “Been living as a Beta. Clean of drugs, suppressants. Unbonded. A decade or more of fertility left.”

“Why the rush?” Sherlock asked, turning to regard the Alpha with a cool stare.

“He’s approaching his heat. And he has a bond mark, though the bonding wasn’t completed.”

Sherlock wasn't sure what he regretted more in that moment. Not forcing a suppressant down John's throat before he pushed him away or not completing the bond like he'd promised. Either way, he was the reason John was in this predicament.

“I should hope not or you’re selling an Omega with a very short shelf life. Throwaways aren’t all that valuable.” He let the boredom leach through his tone, doing everything but regarding his own fingernails.

“Come and see for yourself.” the Alpha offered with a grin, seeing through the thin facade Sherlock had put up to draw the other Alpha into his newest persona.

“I sincerely hope I won’t be disappointed.” he said, following the Alpha to the door. His heart thumped hard in his chest, no outward sign of the fear he felt making itself known. The next steps were crucial to getting both him and John out of there alive.


	24. Bids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief allusions to non-con/rape and suicide.

John had learned little about his captors in the short time he’d been with them. He’d heard the shorter one call the Alpha 'Rich' and it was clear Richard was the one in charge.

At a guess he’d been out for at least a few hours, particularly given how quickly the first Alpha buyer arrived to view him. He’d been unable to do much more than stand there and submit to the Alpha’s touch. His scent was sour and turned John’s stomach. Not compatible. But that didn’t seem to deter the man, his hands running eagerly across John’s skin. When it came to making an offer though, he backed off quickly.

The second one was different. He spent a long time just looking at John, then stepped closer, sniffing intently. John surreptitiously scented too, dismayed not to get an equally unpleasant scent as the first. This Alpha was more compatible.

“I want him untied. You could be hiding any kind of defect under those bindings. There’d have to be a good reason why an Alpha went to the trouble of biting him then didn’t complete the bond.”

John’s hands were freed, the gag pulled none-too-gently from his lips. Richard pressed a hand to his shoulder in warning as he was turned to face the buyer. The Alpha cocked his head to the side, scenting again as he ran his eyes up and down John’s body. The look in his eyes spurred John into action, as he drew one arm back and aimed a punch upwards, catching him under the chin. He hit the floor with a satisfying thud.

“Think that’ll answer his question?” John asked as the two men moved towards him. Richard pinned him to the wall with a growl as the shorter man fought to tie his hands once more. A blow to his face rocked his head back, thumping painfully against the wall. The second blow was to the centre of his abdomen, his instinct to double over, restrained by the arms holding him.

The Alpha was aiming his third blow when the other man caught his arm. “Don’t bruise him up too badly, Rich. It’ll lower the price.”

Richard pulled back, shoving John bodily against the wall. “If it wasn’t for the fact that we need you sold, I’d take my time with you, make you feel just how much of an Alpha I am. You’d be more than helpless tied to my bed.”

John rolled his eyes at the empty threat. “You Alphas, you’re all the same. No trying to woo us, no flowers, no romance. Just ‘if you’re not immediately infatuated with me, it’ll have to be rape.’”

The Alpha frowned, then scoffed. “You can’t rape an Omega. You were born to spread your legs and ain't that the truth?” He emphasised his words with a hand pressed between John's legs.

“You really are a throwback to bygone days, aren’t you?” John retorted. Whatever else he might have said was cut off when the shorter man pressed the gag against his mouth, forcing the material between his lips.

“Seen and not heard.” he said firmly, and John was shoved to sit on the floor. “He’s just trying to rile you up.” He added as an aside to Richard.

It took a few minutes for the prospective buyer to come around, the two men solicitous towards him.

“He _is_ a feisty one.” Richard said, in full salesman mode. “Breaking him in would be a very satisfying experience.”

The buyer contemplated for a moment before shaking his head with a wince. “I don’t want to spend all my time watching my back in case he turns on me. He’s practically feral. Contact me if you get one that’s more submissive." And with that he took his leave.

“Fuck.” Richard cursed as the door shut. He kicked a nearby chair, sending it skidding across the floor. “We weren’t going to get a higher bidder than him.”

He turned to glare at John again, then, after a moment of thought, grinned nastily. “I have an idea. We could offer you as a special. Seventy-two hour party, anyone who wants gets to take their turn, for a price. Might turn more of a profit on that than an individual sale.”

All of John’s bravado died in an instant. It would be a horrific death, his body fully immersed in heat but his mind all too aware of what was happening. Without an Alpha to bond with him, his heat would perpetuate, his body unable to shut off the hormone production. And all because he’d been foolish enough to be talked into a bite without a full bond.

“You don’t like that plan, do you, Omega? Well, what’s say you keep that in mind and behave for the next Alpha we bring in. Otherwise, I’m all for plan b. I’d love to watch. And take my turn, of course. I’d be first.” The Alpha laughed as he crossed the room to the door.

John drew his knees to his chest and forced himself to take deep breaths. Left alone with his thoughts and fears he guessed maybe an hour had passed before the door opened. He didn’t look up as the Alpha started his spiel again.

“Why is he restrained? Omega are usually docile.”

John’s heart skipped a beat at the voice.

“This one is spirited. He’ll need firm handling.”

“The bruises? The result of your ‘firm handling’?” The voice asked pointedly.

“He learns quickly. See for yourself.”

John held himself still as the Alpha approached, eyes firmly focused downwards.

“He’s older than you led me to believe.”

“Still in his prime.”

“There are some preexisting damages. His shoulder.”

“An old injury. I assure you, he is in excellent condition.”

Two fingers tipped his chin up. Eyes met and held his.

“Can you stand?”

John struggled to obey, the Alpha assisting with a hand to his arm.

“You’re right. He’s quite an impressive specimen.” The Alpha sounded surprised. “Turn and face the wall.”

John squeezed his eyes closed as he moved. A hand pushed his head forward, chin towards his chest, exposing his neck. A single finger trailed across the bite mark.

“As I said. A bond bite but no bond. As you can't have failed to notice, his heat is fast approaching. We can remove the rest of his clothes if you’d like to examine him further.”

“Unnecessary. His scent tells me everything I need to know.” Sherlock spoke with confidence, one hand tightening reassuringly below John's elbow. “Let’s discuss payment.”

***

It took Sherlock mere moments to read the situation. John tied up, crouched on the floor, barefoot and shirtless. Two men in the room with them. One an Alpha, the salesman, an air of desperation around him. John had done something atypical for an Omega and scared off potential buyers. Not unexpected.

The other man was looking to the Alpha for guidance but, unlike the Alpha, he was armed. Interesting. It spoke to the Alpha’s overconfidence and was something Sherlock could use to his advantage. Of course, there was also the issue of the door, which had locked behind him, and the barman, who was also armed. Barriers, but ones that could be overcome.

He moved closer to John, needing to get a better read on the Omega. If he’d been drugged, Sherlock would need a different plan. He was relieved to find that he hadn’t been. He kept the Alpha talking, making all the right noises to telegraph his interest.

He stepped away from John and towards the second man, channelling enthusiasm through his expression, his posture. The other man’s response was predictable as he placed a companionable hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. It shifted his jacket, exposing his gun. Sherlock moved, grabbing the gun and firing off a shot in one smooth movement, the man slumping to the floor, hand scrabbling at Sherlock’s clothes.

Sherlock swung round and took aim at the Alpha, who had leapt to attention with a shout. He held his hands up, placating. “Wait, let’s not do anything hast…”

Sherlock fired. Twice.

John had moved, putting his back to the wall and was watching the goings-on with wary eyes.

Sherlock lowered the gun and strode towards him, making quick work of cutting the ropes from his wrists and removing the gag. “You need shoes. Try the Beta, he’s closer to your size.”

He aimed the gun at the door.

“The barman…” John said, as he crouched next to the Beta.

“I know.” Sherlock replied. There was the sound of a handle turning and Sherlock moved to stand between John and the door.

Sherlock squeezed the trigger the second he had a target. A shot fired in return hitting the wall behind them and he fired a second time, watching in satisfaction as the barman staggered back from the door.

“We need to leave now.” he said, checking to confirm John had something on his feet. The Omega was staring vacantly at the body of the Alpha and didn't respond.

“I believe this is yours.” Sherlock interrupted, returning the gun to John’s hands. The familiar touch of metal seemed to bring the Omega back to awareness. He nodded, shifting his grip on the gun, turning his gaze towards the door.

Sherlock led the way, John following close behind. The barman was lying on the ground, groaning. The first bullet had found his abdomen, the second his shoulder. Sherlock picked up his gun from the ground and stepped over the body.

The pub itself was empty, drinks half finished, a glass tipped over, its contents dripping off the table. The door to the street was ajar.

They made their way out and started walking south along the road. Once they’d put a bit of distance between themselves and the pub, Sherlock guided them into a laneway.

He turned to the Omega, noting that he was pale and shivering. He pulled off his coat and held it out. John looked at it blankly. With a sigh, Sherlock wrapped the coat around his shoulders and encouraged his arms into the sleeves.

“We need to get off the streets. You probably know the area better than I do.” He needed John focused until they were somewhere safe.

“I… I know a place. It’s not far.”

“Lead the way.”

***

‘Not far’ was a thirty minute walk and it was almost dark by the time John led him into a non-descript building. It had been some sort of art studio before. They passed through towards the back and up a flight of stairs to an apartment door. Sherlock pulled a torch from his pocket to light the way.

The last of the daylight entered the landing through one small window, a yellow vase with dessicated flowers sitting on the sill. John faltered but Sherlock neatly lifted the vase and plucked the key from under it. He unlocked the door, stepping back to let John cross the threshold.

Sherlock had known where they were going as soon as he’d asked the question. John was at his most vulnerable, he’d go where he felt safest. This was the place he’d called home before he’d been snatched off the street by Moriarty’s people.

It was small, the kitchen and living space on top of each other, the bed in a box room next to the tiny bathroom. Cosy. That’s what the advertisement would have read. It was tidy, in keeping with John’s military mind. He’d held on to order and structure, imposing it on his own environment in spite of the chaos of the world outside.

“Perhaps you should rest?” he ventured, as John stood staring aimlessly around the room. “I’ll keep watch.” He added, making it clear he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. He was concerned by the lack of response, verbal or otherwise, but his words must have gotten through as John eventually took wobbly steps towards the bedroom and closed the door firmly behind him.

***

He occupied himself sending texts, knowing Mycroft wasn’t far behind them which, on this occasion, would be an advantage. The addicts in the park were probably a lost cause but the retired vet behind the fruit and veg shop could be relocated with a little persuasion. John would be helpful there. Mycroft’s men would check out the pub as well, in case they kept records of who they’d sold to previously. It might be possible to track down other Omega who’d been sold off like they’d tried to do to…

Finding his hand shaking, he had to put his phone down. It was a curious reaction seemingly precipitated by his train of thought. He liked to think he was motivated by pragmatism but there’d been anger… no, _fury_ , at seeing John tied up and beaten. The guilt was such a weight, he felt like he was drowning. That wasn’t him. He didn’t _do_ guilt. Didn’t _do_ caring.

He forced himself to breathe, knowing logically that slow deep breaths would provide sufficient oxygen and decrease his heart rate. The adrenaline levels would ebb shortly.

It was the _why_ that got to him. He didn’t think he’d have such a strong reaction if Mycroft was the one in danger. Had he underestimated the power of biology?

He heard a noise from the bedroom and moved closer, listening. The sound came again. A soft cry. Nightmare.

He opened the door, unsurprised to see John lying on the bed but taken aback to see the Omega using his coat as a blanket. John twisted, pushing his face into the pillow which muffled his hoarse cry.

Sherlock approached slowly. “John?”

The Omega didn’t react to his voice so he tried again, a little louder and more insistent. “ _John?_ ”

Finally he reached a hand out and shook the Omega’s shoulder. John’s reaction was instantaneous as he tensed beneath Sherlock’s touch, pushing himself up and away from the Alpha's outstretched hand and scrambling to the other side of the bed.

***

He was tied down, surrounded by jeering voices and strong scents. Alphas, all of them. But the solid touch of a hand to his shoulder roused him, and the scents fell away leaving only one. His every instinct told him to get away, his adrenaline surging all at once as he pulled himself across the bed he lay on.

His heat was coming, the Alpha would want to bond.

His forward progress was stopped as he hit a very real wall. Looked back to where the Alpha stood, he saw what was behind him. The door. He was trapped. Curling his body tighter, he made himself as small as possible. And waited.

“John?” The Alpha asked. He cringed at the sound, tensing further as the Alpha moved forward, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “It was just a nightmare, John. You’re safe, I promise.”

Something caught John’s eye. A metallic glint beneath the pillow he’d just vacated. A weapon. Did the Alpha see it? No. He was facing away from John now, towards the door. It took only a moment to reach for it, grasp the cool metal in his hand. The Alpha’s head whipped around but it was too late and the tables had turned.

Strangely, it didn’t seem to anger or worry the Alpha who merely sighed.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll go back outside.”

Outside? Where John wouldn’t be able to see him, wouldn’t know what he was doing, planning?

“Stay there.” He insisted hoarsely.

“Of course, John. Whatever you need.” There was something about the Alpha’s voice. It should have grated, set his teeth on edge but he could feel his muscles relaxing with each word that passed the Alpha’s lips.

“I think you’re having a dissociative episode, probably brought on by all the recent trauma and the fact that you’re approaching your heat. You appear to be running a fever as well.”

John ran the back of his hand across his forehead, frowning when he realised the Alpha was right. His skin was hot to the touch. He didn’t want this, didn’t want to be bound to an Alpha, trapped in never ending nightmare. The bite mark on his neck throbbed insistently, like a countdown to the inevitable. But he had a means of escape. It was right there in his hands.

***

The change took seconds. John holding the gun unwaveringly towards him and then regarding it with a contemplative expression. Sherlock twisted and threw himself towards the Omega, hands reaching for, and deflecting, the gun.

A shot fired, hitting the wall above their heads before Sherlock managed to wrestle the gun from John’s hands and fling it out of reach. John fought him then, legs kicking, arms pushing. He wrapped himself around the Omega as best he could and simply held on. It took time for the struggling to stop and John’s body to still on the bed. A soft sob sounded and Sherlock shifted just a little so he could see John’s face.

“It’s alright now. You’re safe.” he tried. John didn’t seem to hear him. He turned the Omega onto his side, not letting go but instead slotting in behind him, wrapping arms around him to hold him close. There was a brief renewed struggle that ended with another sob.

Not knowing what else to do, Sherlock held on tightly and waited.

At length, John’s breathing evened out, his body relaxing. When he spoke, his tone was one of deep confusion.

“Sherlock?”


	25. Words

He woke with a dry mouth and a tongue like sandpaper. His first instinct was panic when he found arms holding him.

“Sherlock?”

He turned a little, onto his stomach, and looked behind him to see a familiar head of black curly hair.

“It’s alright John. You’re safe.” The Alpha reassured.

Groaning at the stiffness in his body, he rolled over and sat up against the headboard.

“You came after me. Why?” His voice was hoarse, it hurt his own ears, but it didn’t seem to bother Sherlock.

“I miscalculated. I seem to do that a lot where you’re concerned.”

John wasn’t quite sure what to do with that statement.

“Is it really true, that it’s too late for the suppressants to stop my heat, stop the bond?”

“It would appear so. I’m afraid I’ve never had a strong interest in Omega biology. I deleted most of what they forced us to sit through in school.”

John couldn’t help his bitter laugh.

“I’m fairly sure they didn’t mention _that_ in ABO classes. Wouldn’t want to give an Omega the idea they could have second thoughts about a bond.”

“In this case, the second thoughts were mine.” Sherlock seemed uncomfortable at the admission, unable to meet John's eyes.

“Yeah, well, I can’t blame you for not wanting to be saddled with me, especially with the kind of world we live in now.” John let his head rest against the headboard, cataloguing the pains in his body.

“Tell me, why did you run?”

He shot the Alpha a withering look, unable to understand how someone so smart could be so dim. “I didn’t want to be forced into one of your brother’s breeding programmes.”

That set a frown on Sherlock’s face. “Mycroft’s programmes are strictly voluntary, I told you that.”

“That’s not what they were saying in Scotland Yard.”

The Alpha’s frown deepened. “Of course, those moronic idiots _would_ say that. They’re terrified of any Omega, woman or child who winds up in their hands.” He huffed out a breath of annoyance. “When I left, after breaking off our agreement, it was in the belief that I was restoring your freedom. I’d coerced you into a bond bite. The Omega counsellor said bonding with you now would retraumatise you. I… didn’t want you to look at me the way you looked at Moriarty.”

John sat up a little straighter.

“You might be a bastard, but you’re no Jim Moriarty.”

“He and I aren’t all that different.”

“What, you’re running a breeding centre and a brothel on the side too?” John managed to inject a little levity into the conversation.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“So what are you trying to tell me? That you’re planning on tying me up and raping me?”

John winced as the words passed his lips. Sherlock’s reaction was starker, as he bodily shifted off the bed and took two steps towards the door, pivoting slowly to face the Omega.

“John, if it was in my power right now, I would leave and let you get on with your life.”

“You still could. It would be very short life, but it would be mine.”

There was a tense stand off, seconds ticking by as neither spoke.

“That’s not you. You’re the Omega who put himself through medical school, through army training, through active service. The Omega who not only survived, but _thrived_ , in the aftermath of a population decimating event. Look around, this flat is a testament to that. You’re a _survivor_ , John Watson.”

John shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, wincing at the familiar pain in his wrists. He’d become entirely too used to being bound.

“Surviving on my own terms. Not as someone else's pet or toy.”

“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement then?”

“We came to an arrangement before. How well did that work out for me?” He pushed up his sleeves as he spoke, eyeing the bruised and raw skin around his wrists and the bruises on his forearm. He saw Sherlock turn his head to look at them, the Alpha's keen eyes cataloguing each mark. His voice had lost some of the confidence it had had only moments before.

“You need to bond to live. And keep bonding, every three months. I will be on hand and at your service for that. Outside of those times, I will leave you to your own devices. Being a bonded Omega, you will be safer though it is still be advisable to keep within the barriered areas. There is plenty of accommodation available. Mycroft and Lestrade can help with employment. The hospital is actively looking for staff. Scotland Yard needs medics if you'd prefer something more front line.”

John rubbed a hand across his face, wincing as he contacted a bruise. “So we have to bond, even though neither of us really wants to?”

“It would appear so. Mycroft will be delighted.”

At John’s curious look, the Alpha clarified. “My brother seems to be labouring under the belief that bonding will have a beneficial effect on both our life expectancies.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something.” John didn't even try to disguise his sarcasm.

“There are other choices to be made if you are agreeable to bonding.”

“Such as?”

“Taking suppressants. It won’t stop your heat at this stage but it will reduce the intensity and duration. You will be more… aware... of what’s going on. There’ll be less of the haze that normally accompanies a heat.”

“I’ll have more control?” It was a unique suggestion, one John hadn’t expected. Bonding was defined by the Omega’s helplessness, trapped in the throes of heat and at the mercy of an Alpha.

Sherlock nodded, adding “I thought that option might appeal to you.”

“So how is it that you know suppressants do that but not the point at which they’ll no longer negate the need to bond?”

“I worked on a case a few years back. For Mycroft. A high level government figure through whom some important information seemed to be leaking. I eventually determined that the leak was the Omega he was bonded to. The man was always at work, the only exception was when his Omega was in heat. The Omega was confined to the house and, resenting being cloistered inside all the time, started taking low dose suppressants during his heat to gather information on his Alpha and then started selling it on to the highest bidder.”

“How was _that_ going to free him?”

“He was planning to hire a hitman to kill his Alpha and then start a new life for himself.”

John felt he would have remembered a case like that in the news but he guessed they were the kind of cases that never saw the light of day. Official Secrets Act and all that.

"How did you work it out?"

"Orange juice."

"What?"

"The Omega would order extra orange juice during his heats, presumably to keep his blood sugar levels up. He had stopped doing so about four months previously, which I determined to be because the intensity of his heats had diminished."

“That... that's amazing. What happened to him?”

“He was jailed. Solitary confinement except when he went into heat, when his Alpha would be permitted to stay with him. Barely a shade in the difference between his pre- and post- incarceration lifestyle. I believe he produced two children during his imprisonment.”

John couldn’t help his shudder at the picture it painted.

“That won’t be you John, whatever you choose.”

A knock on the door interrupted any reply he might have given.

“That’ll be Lestrade, and perhaps my brother. Do you feel up for visitors?”

“Have I got a choice?”

“Of course, I am perfectly content to tell them to leave. They’re both accustomed to my bluntness. They do come bearing food but I can ask them to put it outside the door.”

John's stomach protested its emptiness but he knew there were more important matters than food that had yet to be decided.

“And if I don’t want to bond? Will you leave too?”

“If that is your choice, I will respect it.” The Alpha replied at length. He reached down and picked up the gun he’d tossed to the floor earlier, setting it on the chest of drawers. “I leave the decision entirely in your hands.”

He moved to the door, hand pressing down on the handle, when John spoke again.

“When I first returned to London, during the early days of the pandemic, my life, and my future, looked break. Days of nothingness. I spent hours contemplating using that,” he nodded to the gun, “to end it all. But then Harry got sick and…”

He looked away, conscious of the Alpha's gaze on him. “And things started happening and kept happening. They were crying out for medics to staff emergency centres for the sick. And then the whole system collapsed in slow motion and daily life became the battle I’d been longing for.”

He felt ashamed to admit that he'd thrived on the chaos when so many others had fallen.

“There are many more battles to be fought.” Sherlock said, as the knocking came again. The Alpha seemed in no hurry to get the door. He watched John stand and walk to the chest of drawers, picking up the gun. “Battles within and without.” John agreed quietly, opening the top drawer and placing the gun inside.


	26. Reminiscence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, I've gotten a bit busier than I'd anticipated so haven't as much time to write at the moment.

Sitting in the driver's seat next to an impeccably dressed Mycroft always made Lestrade a little uneasy. This time was no exception as they made their way to the address Sherlock had text them.

“Sherlock’s made a real mess of things.” he remarked when the silence grew too long.

“My brother is quite talented at that.” Mycroft replied, without inflection.

“Goes against Alpha instinct though, doesn’t it? Turning your back on a compatible Omega.”

Mycroft heaved a sigh of displeasure at what Greg assumed was the tediousness of their conversation. “My brother had a bad relationship experience in his early twenties. He’d be the first to insist that he remains unaffected by the encounter but it is clear it has coloured his view of relationships ever since.”

“Your brother had a relationship? With an Omega?” He couldn’t picture that. Not the Sherlock he knew.

“Not an Omega. A woman. She had an Omega mother so she was a carrier of the Omega genes. It creates a particularly strong attraction for an Alpha, though not to the level you see with an Omega.”

“So what happened?”

“She left him for another Alpha. He threw himself into his work and has never looked at another woman or Omega since except to obtain a lead on a case.”

“Christ. And I thought my wife and I were bad. Does John know?”

“Officially _I_ don’t even know. Sherlock’s never spoken of it. I learned about it months after the fact.”

“It explains a few things.”

“Does it? I’m never quite sure where Sherlock is concerned.” Mycroft eyed the building they’d stopped in front of with distaste. “Shall we go and face the music?”

Lestrade led the way, his gun drawn, unwilling to take chances this far from safety.

***

John stayed sitting on the edge of his bed while Sherlock went to answer the door. He heard familiar voices. When Sherlock didn’t return and the voices kept talking he resigned himself to being polite and went out to greet their guests.

He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of Mycroft perched on his small settee and Lestrade leaning against the wall next to the door. Sherlock was standing in front of Mycroft, arms crossed, speaking quietly but emphatically.

“Ah, Dr. Watson.” Mycroft seemed relieved to see him and moved as if to stand.

“Don’t get up on my account.” he said, moving to sit on the nearby armchair.

“We brought you some supplies. Sherlock feels it would be best for you both to stay here until the end of your heat.”

“So he’s said.” John felt his cheeks redden and tried to wish away the embarrassment. He hated how public being an Omega was. Even the description of their fertile period as a heat, as if they were dogs.

“If you’d rather return to Baker Street, I’m sure that could be arranged.” Mycroft replied smoothly.

“No, Sherlock’s right. It would be better to ride it out here.” He felt safe here.

“You’ll be happy to hear Molly and her baby are doing well. The doctors have had some success with treatments for the illness she’s got.” Lestrade interrupted.

“That’s great news.” John replied, though it was hard to muster any strong feelings right then.

“Yes.” Sherlock echoed. “It’s good to hear they’ll be okay and John’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

John shot the Alpha a sharp look. Where had that come from?

“Molly and the baby safe, Moriarty dead. I believe it’s safe to say John’s bravery had multiple rewards.” Mycroft said smoothly. “Detective Lestrade, I think it’s time we get going and leave John and Sherlock to their peace and quiet. You should find everything you need in these bags. If there is anything additional you require, you only have to text.”

They stood. “Take care, mate.” Lestrade said to John. “We’ll see you back at Scotland Yard soon, eh?”

John nodded, even though he had no idea if that would be the case.

Mycroft let Lestrade lead the way, stopping at the threshold and turning back to look at his brother. “You should tell him about Ottilie, Sherlock. If there’s anyone who deserves to know, it would be John.” And with that he took his leave.

John looked between the door and Sherlock, who had gone stock still at Mycroft’s parting words.

“Ottilie? What’s Ottilie?” he asked, curiosity overcoming the heavy weight of inevitability.

“Who, not a what.” Sherlock replied distractedly.

“Alright. _Who_ is Ottilie?” John tried.

“She is… she was… we were engaged. A long time ago. She left me and married someone else. It’s long forgotten.”

John’s brain was slow to follow. “So you like women?” That was unusual but not unknown for an Alpha and would explain his disinterest in John.

“I like _people_ , John. And very few at that. She was Omega-born. The attraction between us was strong.” Sherlock was trying to keep his response clinical but John could hear the emotion in his voice.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

“As I said, she married someone else.”

“An Alpha?”

“An Alpha with money, and a title. She’s a Duchess now.”

“And you were engaged?”

“We were going to elope. I didn’t want the fuss I knew my family would insist on with a wedding and she said she didn’t want it either. She strung me along and I was small-minded enough to fall for it, to think that she really felt that way about me. I’ve deleted the memories, a thousand times over, but _every time_ something, a smell, a sound, a place, reminds me of her and it all comes flooding back.”

The Alpha was pacing now, fingers pressed to his temples.

“She hurt you.”

“Excellent deduction, Dr. Watson.” Sherlock’s scathing tone was meant to be cutting but John let it wash over him.

“I’m sorry about what happened, Sherlock. But it’s nice to know you have the same feelings as the rest of us. I was beginning to wonder.”

“I’m so glad to hear you derive comfort from my pain.”

“Oh sod off. It’s not that, you know it’s not. But it gives me a better understanding of where you’re coming from. The idea of a bond must be pretty terrifying when the closest thing you’ve ever experienced to it was wrenched apart like that. Consciously or unconsciously you’ve been trying to push me away since the moment you met me.”

“Nonsense. Like I told you, I’ve been using you. To rescue the others, to get Moriarty. You were a pawn on my chessboard.”

“If that was the case, you wouldn’t be here. And you’d never have given me a bond bite. Your plan would still have worked without it but a bite staked your claim on me visibly so others would see. So _Moriarty_ would see. You felt his threat as an Alpha.” It was all starting to come together in John’s head.

John’s enlightenment only seemed to worsen Sherlock’s restlessness. He continued to pace around the small room.

“Sherlock, you need to sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”

The Alpha flopped onto the seat Mycroft had vacated. After a beat, John moved to sit next to him.

“It works both ways you know.” He tried, angling his head to meet Sherlock’s eyes.

“What does?” Sherlock asked tonelessly.

“Touch.” John replied, letting his hand settle over Sherlock’s. “A compatible Alpha draws comfort from an Omega’s touch like an Omega draws comfort from theirs.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand gently.

“Oh.” Sherlock said, looking down at their intertwined hands with confusion. John moved his hand up to Sherlock’s shoulder, kneading gently and some of the tension seemed to ease from the Alpha’s still form.

“Better?”

“I’m surprised you can stand to touch me.” he replied quietly.

“Well, humans like to be needed. Most of them, anyway. Besides, by necessity, we’re going to be doing a lot more touching very soon.”

“Mycroft has sent some supplies he believes will help.”

“Suppressants?”

“Alcohol.”

“Oh. Right.”

“What humans have been using for millennia to get through awkward sexual encounters.”

There was a moment of silence before John began to laugh. “I hope he sent us the good stuff. None of that Sainsbury’s own brand.”

“I wouldn’t worry. Mycroft has excellent taste.” Sherlock was frowning again. “You should probably start taking the suppressants now too. You’re becoming emotionally labile. It's an early sign.”

“You made a joke and I laughed. I hardly call that being ‘emotionally labile’.” John protested. His hand slid closer to Sherlock's neck, fingers trailing along bare skin.

“I was stating a fact, not a joke.” Sherlock replied, breath hitching. “Perhaps a shower and some food then. And I should take a look at your injuries.”

John snorted in bemusement. “Remind me, which one of us is the doctor again?”

“It’s important to ascertain the state of your health before your heat starts.” the Alpha looked away. “And you were hurt because of me. I need to see.”

John relented. “Fine. I don’t fancy a cold shower though, so can you get the generator going? It’s downstairs, next to the utility room. There’s a store of fuel there too.”

Sherlock climbed to his feet. “You’re quite the resourceful Omega. Your survival skills from the army, I assume.”

“They’ve definitely come in handy.”

John went through the bags of supplies while Sherlock was downstairs. There was plenty of food and a portable stove. There was alcohol, as promised. He did a double take when he saw the label. Sherlock was right, Mycroft had good taste. Expensive too.

The last bag had him bemused. Suppressants. Lubricant. Contraceptives. And sex toys. At this rate his eyebrows would be in a perpetually raised state. He repacked the toys, deciding not to mention them to Sherlock. But when the Alpha walked back into the room minutes later, he seemed well aware of what John had found.

“My brother is nothing if not thorough. And rather thoughtful given the circumstances. Though I imagine he sent his assistant. I can’t picture Mycroft raiding a sex shop.”

“You haven’t touched those bags. How did you know?” John demanded, choking back laughter at the image of Mycroft peering at shelves of edible lingerie and vibrators.

“Your cheeks are flushed, you seem discomfited. Most of the bags have been unpacked. The last is in a different position and appears to have been repacked. Since I came into the room, you haven’t looked at me or the table where the bag is. Ergo, something in the bag made you embarrassed and uncomfortable enough to repack it so the contents were out of sight. Simple, really.”

“Right. Simple.” He rooted around the drawers for a can opener and make quick work of opening a tin of mandarins. He offered them to Sherlock who shook his head. Pulling out a fork, he dug in, relishing the cool, sweet taste. God, he missed fresh oranges. He wondered how many years it would be until they got those kind of supply lines running again.

“Mycroft has a five year plan to restore stability to the country, with London at its centre once more. By that time Europe should have stabilised and sea and air trade restarted.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you knew what I was thinking.” John replied, forking another piece of mandarin into his mouth.

“You had that look people get when they miss the past. I’ve seen it so often this last year.”

“We’ve lost a lot.” John remarked, setting his tin down on the counter with a yawn.

“You should shower before you get too tired.” Sherlock suggested.

“Mycroft even packed shower gel and shampoo.” John replied, picking the bottles up from the table as he made his way to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, turned the shower on and undressed slowly as the water heated up. His body was an interesting patchwork of bruises, old and new. He stepped under the spray of water, unable to hold back a moan as heat cascaded along sore muscles.

He heard the sound of the door opening and turned. Sherlock stood at the threshold. “You forgot your towel.” He said, setting it down on the closed toilet lid. His eyes slid down and John knew he was cataloguing each injury he could see.

“Bastards.” the Alpha muttered when his eyes found the fresh bruising on John’s torso.

“Dead bastards, thanks to you.” John said. “I want to take a look at that wound of yours too. All that exertion probably hasn’t helped with the healing.”

“All in good time, Dr. Watson.” Sherlock replied, with the slightest of smiles. "I'll leave you to shower in peace."


End file.
